


I think I'm gonna call him out

by hellelf



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF Hermione Granger, Death Eaters, I made a bunch of my own OCs, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Not Canon Compliant, Secret Identity, There is NO SHIPPING of Hermione and Evan, and we discuss our trauma, but not really, opens up a world she doesn't get to see in canon, what if...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:33:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 66,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28703703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellelf/pseuds/hellelf
Summary: In which Evan Rosier ditched the Death Eaters months before that October night, got a job on the continent and moved into a suburban house with a muggleborn witch next door. Tragically, he was always a bit soft on toddlers.In which, someone taught Hermione her love of books and encouraged her inner rebel at a young age. Finished with her second year at Hogwarts, she's off to France to visit family and hopefully see some amazing magical landmarks.
Comments: 23
Kudos: 47





	1. Hot Girl Bummer

**Author's Note:**

> This was a quarantine story I started in early September. I'm back to work so I'm not sure how much more I'll get around to but thought I'd post something. 
> 
> First thing, there is NO PAIRING of Hermione and Evan Rosier. He's a weird pseudo-uncle and only views Hermione as his (headache giving) niece. Please note that there is no pairing selected because I don't know what I'm doing there.
> 
> Second, I'm introducing a lot of oc characters. Most of them are continent raised purebloods with ties back to England via 'X-family member is in Azkaban and an embarrassment'.
> 
> Third (which should probably be first), there is mentions of child abuse, potential rape, murder and torture. This is generalized and mostly spoken about to Hermione when explaining backstory stuff or what she noticed about classmates. (we are talking about purebloods and Death Eaters here.) There's nothing depicted until we get to Book 4, which is the canonical death. Let me know if you guys think I should tag anything in particular!
> 
> Lastly, Hermione is half-black in this story. There's mention of racism that she faced prior to Hogwarts. I am white so I did my best to keep it low-key and about how it fed into what she faced as a muggleborn later. (also, Harry is Indian descent.)
> 
> I've beta-read this myself so I might have missed things. Let me know if anything is glaringly obvious.

Hermione Granger was very excited to visit her mother’s family just after Second Year. Usually, the journey from Paris to Uffington would be made by her grandmother, Cléa, alone, four times a year. Once for Hermione’s birthday in September (which had not happened these past two years as she was at school), for her mother’s birthday in March, for her own birthday in June and for the week between Christmas and New Years. For the rest of the year, she lived in Paris with her son and his wife and their daughter, Hermione’s older cousin. Very occasionally, over the years, the three would make the journey during the holidays with Cléa but Marie, her aunt, worked in a couture boutique and rarely could take the time, even if Jean and Lesitte could.

But this year, her parents had closed their dentist practice for two entire weeks, leaving young Kyle Albert to do cleanings and emergencies if needed. It was their 15th wedding anniversary and Hermione had missed seeing her grandmother this winter. She was overjoyed to see Paris and had ordered a book from Flourish and Blotts about possible magical tourist spots they might be able to visit. She knew they were to spend the second week in South France, along the ocean, and hoped it was close to Nice, which had a magical market like Diagon Alley in London.

“Where are you off to, Miss Mione?” a man asks. She looks up from where she’s reading her guide, sitting on her suitcase next to the car. She was ready to go but her parents were dealing with last minute washing up and setting up the house. Leaning on the short brick wall between her house and their right side neighbor was her very favorite neighbor. He was young, younger than her parents, by at least two years in her mum’s case, at 32. Besides him, his roommate Matt, and Hermione, the only person younger than them was the Clarks’ 6 year old down the street. The Clarks had a late start, at nearly 38 and little Keiran was a surprise. 

Evan was handsome for someone his age, she supposed. She knew most of the women about the neighborhood thought so and there was much sighing about how _‘those boys were wasted on each other’_ where every nosy neighbor had three single nieces. He had light brown hair and a slightly rounded face but nice cheekbones, according to Mrs. Tremble at Number 9, and a nice smile. His _real_ smile, Hermione knew, was only ever directed at the Grangers, Keiren or his Matt. The one he gave to people like Mrs Tremble was fake as her best friend, Harry, sometimes gave to their other friend, Ron. He was always very well dressed, on his way to work, or lived in band shirts and dirty jeans. Matt, his blond roommate, who was much quicker to smile, had a bit of an Eastern European accent and worked at Oxford, was Hermione’s second favorite neighbor.

Both were also the neighbors who babysat her all through her childhood. They were almost like uncles. Evan always brought her treats back from his trips around the world and Matt had been the one to spark her interest in studies. It was Evan that taught her to read, however, and helped her with her maths and corrected her homework. Evan had spent endless hours with her after she got home from school, before her parents got home, teaching her to do a bit of cooking or playing pretend where they made up potions with the herbs from his gardens out back. She knew they weren’t real potions, she made those things now, but he’d taught her to cut herbs with a knife, just as well as the Slytherins could. Most ‘potions’ had been sauces, she would bet. He was the one she confided in when the kids at school were being nasty because of her hair and teeth and her skin and the weirdness of her name. He was the one who picked her up crying when Lanon had cut some of her hair and almost verbally eviscerate Lanon’s dad. He was also the one who taught her how to throw a punch, which then led to him picking her up for her own suspension two weeks later, when Lanon’s nose was broken.

Mum was very upset, since dad was away at a conference in Scotland. Evan had watched her as well, promising that she’d be put to her worksheets and he’d have her doing chores. Consequences, he’d told Jane Granger when she went off to work that first day, were important to learn early. So he’d had 7 year old Hermione do her school work in his kitchen while he cut up herbs. Then once she was done with maths and science (which was very quickly), he shuffled her out front to weed the flowers with him. He taught her what the flowers meant, and showed her the little birds’ nests. The next day she’d done her reading and he had a lunch meeting at a pub. The man was Italian and regalled her with stories of Italy then insisted on ordering her chocolate cake. Evan just watched, amused, drinking his coffee, because he hated tea. The third day, he took her to a carnival at Oxford campus and when she’d pointed out she was supposed to be learning consequences, he answered that he’d never said _she_ needed to learn about them. _She_ was just defending herself from the injustice of Lanon’s poor raising. 

Evan was the one she wrote to in first year, when she had no friends and all the girls were mean because she liked books and Ron made fun of her and Malfoy was acting out a new sort of injustice of poor raising. He wrote back that she would find her place, she would find friends and posh girls were always mean. He also added that _there was nothing wrong with popping someone in the mouth, remember_? She still wrote to him, editing out as much of magic as she could. She wrote about her twit of a teacher Lockhart and how mean Snape was. He wrote that he knew dumb idiots like Lockhart and knew someone as slimy and big of a git as Snape when he was in school. She wrote about how much meaner Malfoy was being and he answered that, when he was their age, he was very nasty indeed, because that’s what his relatives expected. _The rich and noble,_ he wrote, _think cruelty is how you keep power; to them, children aren’t people, they’re set pieces and status symbols. This boy,_ he added, _was probably very lonely even if he’s surrounded by so-called friends. Jealousy blinds him and loneliness pines for attention._

She’d watched Malfoy after that. He was always On so to speak. Always acting up so everyone looked at him. And when everyone besides Hermione looked away, he shrank away between Crabbe and Goyle. He got distant until Theodore Nott or Blaise Zabini would touch his elbow and guide him away from the two bulky boys. She realized Crabbe and Goyle weren’t his friends, just the set pieces expected of him. The other two boys were the ones who were his friends. She understood him better, even when he was looking for a good punch by calling her mudblood. She kept her temper, remembering Evan’s letter. More, she remembered Lucius Malfoy’s sneer and the sharp bark that made Draco follow him from the bookstore that day.

But it was summer now and Evan was expecting an answer. He was in his band tees again and his brown hair was mussed like he’d just woken up. From the coffee cup in his hand, he probably had, even if it was half-nine. He was always a bit dull before his third cup of coffee.

Hermione smiles at him and tucks her book into her backpack. Some of the pictures moved. “Off to France today,” she explains. “To visit Meme.”

“Oh,” he says squinting in the sunlight. “Cléa, France, right. You all packed up?” Cléa and Evan got along very well. Both went off on tirades in French about the dreadfulness of British Food and the State of the Government. Evan’s family had spent a lot of time in France but he’d lost touch when he’d moved in with Matt. 

“Yes. Mum and dad are just finishing the washing up,” she answers, tucking some of her hair behind her right ear. It bounces back into place as he asks her how they’re traveling. “We’re taking a plane from Heathrow. Dad wanted to take the train but Uncle Jean bought us tickets. Dad doesn’t like it; he says he’s flaunting.”

“Mm, your dad is very sensible with money,” Evan answers before sipping his coffee. “I don’t think your uncle means anything by it though. He works with money, yeah? My family had no problem paying for travel if we wanted to see family but couldn’t take the time to visit. He wants to see his sister and her daughter. A few hundred euros is a little cost to see a loved one.” He seemed a little sad at that but bounces back. “You excited?”

“Oh yes! Mum says we can go to the Louvre and she wants to do a bit of shopping. And Lesitte just graduated university so she’ll be able to hang out with us all the time. Then next week, we’ll be going to the south and the beach.” He smiles at her and asks about what she really wants to see. She doesn’t say any of the magical places but all the muggle places. “What’s your favorite place in France?”

Evan’s face goes sad again. She’d seen Mrs. Weasley’s face do that during the summer before. After one of the Twins antics and her shouting at them had been over, when they had disappeared and everyone else had gone back to eating. Mrs. Weasley had stared after her twins with a distant look and undisguised grief. She’d asked Bill (because he was the most approachable of the older Weasleys, Charlie was just so _cool_ and she didn’t think Percy would know) if something bad had happened. He patted her shoulder with a grim smile and told her that sometimes, the twins reminded his mum of her brothers who’d died in the same war as Harry’s parents. She wondered if Evan was remembering brothers or friends that died or just relationships that fell away.

“Dijon, my family has land nearby,” he says finally. “We’d go the week after New Years after all the awful fancy parties my parents were invited to or hosted and before I had to head back to school. And the summers, I could bring a friend or two. We’d race around the countryside or wander the streets.”

“Ah, we’re going to Dijon for a day trip,” Jane Granger says having stepped out. “My niece Lesitte wants to attend the flower festival.”

Evan gives her a good smile, not a fake one. “Florissimo, I love it. My mother always adored all the colors. She’d try to match her dresses to her favorite rose display.” Hermione knew that his mother’s favorite flower was orchids but his father loved roses and so did Evan. He made sure the rose bushes in his yard were always the best, always bloomed the whitest whites of innocents, the pinkest of pinks for gentleness and the most yellow of yellows for new beginnings and memory. No reds, the only red bush was in the backyard, in a corner, and sometimes their petals looked like blood. He never told her the meaning of that bush but she didn’t think it was passionate love like the books said. He seemed to avoid it and Matt was the one to prune it, passing on the flowers to neighbors or coworkers after only a few days of blooms. “Make sure to visit the Notre-Dame du Dijon and touch the owl there for good luck and a wish. I always got lucky right after.” He winks at Jane who laughs. Hermione guesses this was something _dirty_ and she wasn’t supposed to understand. Probably a kiss or something even grosser was Evan’s wish. She resolutely doesn’t think about walking down a French street with Ron and touching a silly owl statue for a kiss.

===

Hermione Granger loved every minute of Paris. The food was wonderful, if weird. (nothing was too weird these days, Fred once shared a Pepper Imp with her.) The city was beautiful and new but so old. The museums and the galleries that her grandmother and her cousin brought them were _amazing_.

Her grandmother was so cool too. She told Hermione stories of her experiences in each street and buildings that they went to. Stories about people she’d met, funny anctados about tourists and, most fascinating, the daring missions she did when she was a young woman. Young as Hermione, she says with a grim little smile. 

Cléa Lebrun was in her late sixties these days. She didn’t bend like Mrs. Willis of Number 19 (who never acknowledged Hermione or Jane and said terribly rude things about Matt and Evan. Evan said _very_ rude things about Mrs. Willis) and her hair was still dark but Hermione could see greys among the dark tight curls. Mrs. Willis of 19’s husband had fought in the War and she raised their two children that never visited these days while he was gone. Cléa Lebrun had woken up one terrible morning in June, the day she turned 14, to find that her city had been taken over and Germans wanted her dead. So she stole supplies and eavesdropped and _survived_. 

And she told Hermione those stories. Some that made Jane scold her, some that Greg say ‘oh my, little ears, Cléa’. Some that made Cléa herself get that sad distant look, like Molly or Evan. (Like McGonagall, the first time she’d seen Harry in class; the look she pointed at his and Ron’s backs when marching them into the Great Hall after flying to school.) Hermione understood those stories for what they were: _I survived and so too can you, Hermione_. 

Lisetta Lebrun on the other hand, was everything Hermione wanted to be and dreaded to be. She was smart and classy and good with people. Mostly, she was _beautiful_. She wore swanky fashionable clothes in flattering colors and designs from some of the best shops. Her brown hair was straightened, with carmel highlights, then gently curled. Her gold makeup highlighted her smooth dark skin and brightened her dark eyes, which sparkled with honesty and amusement, when not covered by her chunky designer sunglasses. Hermione felt young and dumpy and her hair was such a mess next to her cousin. Nevermind her _clothes_. She was in childish shirts and jeans and trainers. Lisetta wore pumps and heels to meals and stylish flats or sandals when walking the streets and museums. 

But she was also unbelievably nice to Hermione. When the adults were chatting about boring things, Lisetta would ask her about her friends and school and told her all about the history of things. Lisetta confided in her in a mock-whisper, that she’d just graduated business school but she was going to waste her life and heading into culinary school come the spring.

“I want to make things,” she says as their parents talk about some political thing. Her and Hermione are sharing a slice of a fancy cake. She cuts into the soft sponginess, scooping up a bit of frosting and a strawberry. She doesn’t eat it though, just inspects the forkful. “Like, money is swell but I want to see someone’s eyes light up with joy when they take their first bite of a Creme. It's silly, I know.”

“I don’t think so,” Hermione says, thinking of all the times she’s seen her schoolmates watch in wonder at their skills. “I think that’s very nice.” She thinks about the way that Evan carefully prunes his rose bushes, coxes lilies out, plucks tomatoes from his garden to mix with carefully cut herbs. “My neighbor would tell you that money can’t buy passion.”

Lietta’s smile is beautiful with the glossy lips and straight teeth. “That’s exactly what Cal says too. Cal is my boyfriend, he’s the one that encouraged me to go to culinary,” she explains. “He’s meeting us for breakfast tomorrow and heading up to Dijon for the festival too. He might join us South if he can get off.”

“What does he do?” Hermione asks curiously. 

“Lawyer, of all things,” she laughs. “Meme hates that I’m dating a posh private school boy but he’s so down to Earth. He’s always encouraging me to be happy. His sister and cousin are about your age too.” She winks at Hermione. “He’s been letting me practice being a good older cousin on them, to prepare for you.” 

Hermione flushes. “Oh, you’ve been very nice. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Nonsense! We’re cousins, family,” Lisetta says. “I wanted to be the best I could be to finally get to hang out with you.” She leans in closer to Hermione who also leans in. “Anyways, Cal’s bloody rich so his girls exploit him having the family credit card and I reap the benefits of their shopping addiction and chocolatiering.” She says it like it's a secret and Hermione feels warm to know this. She’s even happier when her cousin adds, “But I’m really enjoying the museums more. You’re giving me all the excuses to live out my childhood historian dream.”

“Why not go into that instead?” Hermione asks curiously. “Instead of cookery, that is.” Her cousin sits back, popping the cake bite into her mouth.

She looks off thoughtfully at the view outside the restaurant window. “I think it's because it would be incredibly sad. To see how people lived, knowing that they died. To never talk to them. I want to see life being lived. Not disturb the dead in their dreams.” Hermione thinks about the ghosts in Hogwarts; the Grey Lady who always seemed so sad, the Bloody Baron and his chains, Nick and his eternal state of almostness. She thinks about the moving pictures in Harry’s photo albums; the one on Neville’s bedside of two very young people; the picture on Matt’s bed side table of him much younger and a boy who looks like him mid-laugh and the lack of any such photos with Evan’s touch. She thinks of Myrtle and her eternal crying.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “It would be sad.” She turns to the cake as Aunt Marie engages her daughter in a talk about some fashion designer or other that wanted Lisetta to model. Hermione wonders if the entire wizarding world is built on the dreams of the dead. Were they constantly disturbing the spirits who just wanted peace? How many souls did she disturb? (and how many ghosts weren’t yet dead? How many fifth, sixth and seventh years in her first year remembered the war? How many Slytherins lived with blood on their names, from the deeds of their parents? How many were just trying to _survive_ like her meme did? Was Malfoy?) 

===

Callum fits next to Lisetta perfectly and looks at her like she’s the sun. Hermione thinks he’s almost _too_ handsome. He has honey brown hair, with soft curls that are loose but tamed. The skin on his shapely cheeks, his partition nose, his strong jaw, is tanned by the sun and looks smooth as porcelain. When he arrives at the cafe, he’s dressed in a white button down under a navy blue waistcoat. The waistcoat’s buttons are opalescent and shaped like roses. His black pants are perfectly pressed and his shoes are almost shiny. A rolled up right sleeve shows that his watch is antique silver while the other is covering his left hand.

He warmly greets Cléa with a kiss to her cheek which she scolds him for being a rascal then he greets Lisette with a kiss to her temple as he sits down next to her. This puts him across from Hermione, who is next to her mum, who is across from Lisetta and Cléa is on the end of the table. Her dad had gone to look at cars with Uncle Jean and complained on it for twenty minutes this morning. Auntie Marie had a fitting for some politician’s wife or other.

“Auntie Jane, Mione, this is my boyfriend, Callum Rosier,” Lisetta says looking at him with obvious affection. He looks back at her with just as much, a smile on his lips. She blinks and looks away to them. “Cal, this is my aunt Jane and her daughter, Hermione.” 

“Bonjour, Mademoiselle Jane,” Callum greets and kisses Jane’s hand. Her mother laughs a greeting back. Then he holds out his hand to Hermione. She looks at it suspiciously. She doesn’t want this handsome man kissing her. She’s nothing like a princess or a lady. She accepts it but with a defiant look into his pretty cornflower blue eyes and shakes it like a dare to try and turn it. He shakes her hand, meeting her eye with a knowing look. “And you must be the brilliant young scholar that Etta has been telling me about.”

“You’re the posh private school boy, meme’s been complaining about,” Hermione answers, trying to be as cool and unaffected as Pansy Parkinson. She doesn’t think she hits it.

“Hermione, don’t be rude,” her mother scolds. She blushes at the reprimand, at Callum’s quick smile and Lisetta’s laugh. 

“That’s certainly me,” Callum agrees and sends a dramatic wounded look down the table at Cléa. He even puts his left hand to his chest. “Meme Cléa, you wound me, telling your granddaughter such terrible stories of me.” Cléa huffs and puffs and drinks her coffee pointedly. Jane asks Callum about how they met, because mum loves love and Hermione is left to stew in her embarrassment. She eats her crepes and strawberries and drinks her orange juice.

“Oh, I know!” Lisetta said brightly. She’s holding onto Cal’s right wrist, fiddling with his watch, spinning it around and around his wrist. He’s left handed, Hermione notes, because he can use a fork. “Why don’t Cal and I bring Hermione about the shops?” Hermione’s head shoots up. She’s instantly caught again in Cal’s blue eyes. “We’ll find her something pretty for Florissimo this weekend.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want you to have to go out of your way,” Jane is saying. “Hermione can come with us to Ma’s appointment then meet up with Greg.”

Cal looks away from her to Jane with a smile. “Oh, that’s hardly any fun. I adore Cléa but a doctor’s appointment in the middle of a Paris trip. Sounds dreadfully boring for a young lady.”

“Come on, auntie,” Lisetta insists. “Hermione doesn’t want to sit in a doctor's office while Meme gets her eyes checked. Just a little shopping.”

“Oh, I suppose,” she says giving in far too easy in Hermione’s opinion. She looks over. “If you want, dear. I have heard horror stories from Jean about Lisetta’s shopping, of course.” 

She looks between her mum to her cousin and the boyfriend. The perfect pretty couple. She pushes some of the food around on her plate, embarrassed. “I, er, don’t have much money left. I’ve spent it all on books and souvenirs for Harry and Ron. I can’t buy much.” This is mostly a truth. She has spent her Paris Money. She still has her Dijon Money and her South France Money but those are specifically for Dijon and South France.

“I’ll give Lisetta my card,” Jane says, already pulling out her purse. “Nothing over a hundred, please. We aren’t all bankers and business managers.”

“We’ll be thrifty,” Lisetta agrees and accepts the card. She tucks it into her purse and beams at Hermione. 

“And bring her right back to the house if she’s tired,” her mum continues. “It's been a long few days. I don’t want her out in the sun too long either, Etta. We’re British and her school is in Scotland. This sun is making me cranky.”

“We bring my sister and cousin around the shops, mademoiselle,” Cal assures her. “Fiona and Elian are about Hermione’s age so I’m both well versed in young woman’s fashion and cranky Brits, even if we’ve mostly grown up in France with our grandfather.”

“Where’s your parents?” Hermione asks then recognizes this is _incredibly_ rude. His parents might be dead. She flushes again and stammers, “I-I mean, only one of my schoolmates is raised by his grandmother and my best friend lives with his aunt’s family cause his parents were murdered. That was stupid to ask, I’m sorry.”

Cal watches her for a moment and then shrugs. “I don’t mind. My father and uncle, Elian’s father, there is a third but he died. Anyways, they were in with a terribly bad crowd back in England and ended up in jail, one of the crimes being my mother’s murder. Life sentences. I was about ten so the girls were very young and don’t remember them. Elian’s mum signed custody over to grandfather and he moved us out of England to get away from the media and mess and I think he didn’t like living with the ghosts of what his sons had done or with our uncle’s actual ghost.” Cal takes a sip of his mimosa, watching her like she’s watching him. “Some of the people they worked with escaped trials very lightly by claiming ignorance or coercion. Those same people were- _are_ in the social class grandfather comes from. He didn’t want us in that climate, with our family names hanging over us.”

“Because children aren’t people?” she asks before her brain catches her mouth. He looks surprised while Jane makes a warning noise and pinches Hermione’s leg under the table. She sees Lisetta tip her head out of the corner of her eye, regarding Hermione. Through the flush trying to grow deeper on her face, Hermione continues on. “My neighbor wrote me that, last year, when I told him a classmate was being nasty to me. He said _The rich and noble_ _think cruelty is how you keep power; to them, children aren’t people, they’re set pieces and status symbols.’_ Then he said Malfoy was probably very lonely and jealous even though he’s always got friends around him. I watched, they aren’t very friendly friends. Is that what your grandfather wanted to avoid?”

Callum’s brows twitch inward in thought. His mouth twists down a little. Then it clears up and he gives her a smile. For some reason, it makes her think of Evan’s smile. The special one he reserved for her or Matt. The one he had when they ‘mixed potions’ or watched movies about witches and curses and spells. Like it was a secret.

“Yes, Hermione Granger,” Callum Rosier agrees, twisting his right hand around. He laces his fingers with Lisette's. “I think that is exactly what my grandfather wanted to avoid for us. It utterly ruined our family reputation for most people but the people who’d still want to hang around us, weren’t going to be good people. The sort of friends who only want you to raise up their own names, instead of because they like you. It's incredibly lonely.” He glances to the side as he raises his and Lisette’s hands. His lips brush her knuckles and Hermione thinks _Oh, he really does love her._ The moment is over and he looks back at Hermione, still with that weird secret smile. “Your neighbor is right about the kid thing too. My childhood friend and I were very much dolls that were dressed and put out to be admired and punished if we threw fits or horsed around too much. I watched my uncle, the one who died, go through worse since he was in school. He was only nine years older than me. Idolized his brothers to the point that after their mother’s death, grandfather had a bit of a turn and they raised him. He got put under an extraordinary amount of pressure to be perfect, since he was best friends with another boy who was basically the little prince in our social rings. If my uncle looked bad, so did his friend. His friend died and my uncle crumbled under his brothers’ wishes.” He looks sad, like Evan and Clea and Molly. “He took his own life. He was very, very lonely without Reg.”

Hermione feels sick. She can’t stop thinking about what might have happened if Ron hadn’t become friends with Harry first. She’d see the way he shied away from Colin this year and the awkwardness he had under all the looks, the whispering after his Parselmouth abilities had come to light had crushed him. Harry didn’t have a support system outside of school, she knew. She knew what it meant that his windows were barred, that Fred and George and Ron had to _save him_ from his aunt’s house. She understood the crushed look when she and her parents had walked with him out to his uncle’s car. Worse, she can’t not remember the way Malfoy shrank between Crabbe and Goyle. A little prince between his bodyguard, only to be pulled out by Nott or Zabini. If he died, would they follow or if they died, maybe he would follow. She feels ill.

Cal blinks and in response, so does she. She didn’t even realize she was staring that hard into his blue eyes. She blushes and looks at her plate. Then she quickly adverts her gaze over his shoulder because the last drizzles of strawberry syrup makes her think of blood on marble checkered stone, dripping down grey walls. “I’m sorry about your uncle and your mum.”

“My mother wasn’t a very good person either,” Cal says, propping his chin on his right hand. He’s looking over her head or maybe he’s looking at the terrible curls themselves. “In a house like mine, and probably your classmate’s, your mother trains you to be that little set piece. When you turn a certain age, 9 or 10, your father steps in to make sure you’re a _man_ and proper to represent the family when they ship you off to boarding. Girls are primed by their mothers to be bargaining chips in business deals; love and marriage are entirely separate ideas to them. My mother was just as culpable in our… abuse and Ev’s pressures and colluded in the shit my family was involved in. She just didn’t survive and my aunt knew she’d be on the chopping block if she argued on Elian’s custody.” Hermione thinks about Pansy always hanging on Malfoy and Millicant who avoids every male student. The sharp back of Mrs. Bulstrode and how Mrs. Parkinson is nowhere and distant look in Mrs. Malfoy’s eyes, unless she’s looking at her son. She never looks at her husband.

Hermione presses her thumb to her two front teeth. “Say I… think some of my classmates are, maybe, going through something like that.” His eyes flick down to her, briefly. “You think I should be nice to them?”

He quirks a smile. “Maybe. I was a prick, leaned heavily on what I was taught and saw, when I went to a school here. It took a few punches to the face to fix me of that and I can’t say that I ever really found friends as a teenager. I was the weird British kid and everyone knew _rumors_ of my criminal family. But for Morgana, her father never got arrested. She ran away at fifteen and it was because of people holding out their hands to her. Knowing someone would show her kindness even when her family was only cruel.” He snorts. “I’m going into family law and she went into law enforcement. Most of her friends from then are my friends now too. Etta was probably the first person I initiated a conversation with and even then Mor was shoving me across the square at her.”

“It was dreadful,” Lisetta sighs. “Mor is so pretty. I’d seen them around before and always thought they were such a gorgeous couple.” She gives Hermione a wink. “But don’t let Cal fool you on this one. Mor shoved him all the way up to me, threw herself onto the bench next to me and did a dramatic swoon.” She mimics one, putting the back of her hand to her forehead and turns to lean her back against her boyfriend’s shoulder. “‘Darling, Callum is your problem now. He’s utterly exhausted me with his chatter about the color of your eyes. Do take him for a bite to eat while I rest my poor ears here.’” Callum goes a delightful pink color and he squeezes his eyes shut. 

“Ugh, she’s such a terror. I can’t believe you went along with that. I can only thank the divine that we went to seperate schools. Gawky, awkward little Cal would’ve died with Mor harassing him through puberty and ill-advised crushes on older girls and his math teacher.”

“And she’s better at throwing a punch than him,” Lisetta teases. “So every time we go out and some bore is harassing us, Mor scares them away before Cal over here can get his lawyer pants on.” She goes into mock whispering, covering the side of her mouth to cover it from Cléa. “Don’t tell anyone, Mione, but that’s probably half the reason Meme doesn’t like him. She thinks Mor would take better care of me.”

“She would,” Cléa snorts into her tea. “That girl has a head on her. I’d’ve liked her with me on these streets back when the Nazis were patrolling. Cunning little snakes, a few more of those in the resistance would have been good.”

“Well, it's illegal for women to marry,” Cal says kissing Lisette’s knuckles again. “So I’ll reap this grave oversight in our legal system and date your beautiful granddaughter, knowing the entire time that her true feelings are for my best friend.”

“I’ll drop you like a rock if Mor ever declares her affections,” Lisetta assures him. She leans in to put a peck on his cheek. “Legal or not, she’s got a great bum.”

“It's all the taking she does out of it.” Hermione giggles, relieved to be able to forget about death and her friends and her classmates probably terrible lives. 

The check comes soon enough and the five of them spill onto the Paris street. Jane checks with Hermione again if she wants to go with the couple. Then she gives Lisette another lecture, reminding her that Hermione is _thirteen_ and don’t over do it. Then Cléa threatens Cal and the two older women grab a taxi to her appointment. 

“Do you think she’ll ever love me?” Cal sighs leaning on his girlfriend’s shoulder.

“She doesn’t like Ma or Hermione’s dad,” Etta answers, shoulders also relaxing. “So no, probably not.” She gives Hermione a wicked smile. “Ready to go shopping?”

“Not really,” she says honestly. “I just didn’t want to go to her appointment. But I suppose you’re not going to take no as an answer.”

“Nope,” her cousin says, popping the p. She slings an arm around Hermione’s shoulders and guides her down the road. Cal trails behind. “Come along, little cousin. We have clothes to shop for and my trusty pack mule is here to carry our belongings.”

“Mum gave us a limit,” Hermione points out. “A hundred or less.”

“Auntie gave you a limit,” she answers. “Now tell me about your friends. Both boys? Do you like either of them or any one at all?”

The first two shops are a bust. Etta finds a nice pair of shoes but everything Hermione puts on makes her feel clunky and out of sorts. The third store is very fancy, where they get a private room and someone brings them champagne and bubbly grape juice and racks of dresses for both girls. Hermione touches the fabric on a floofy spring green dress as Etta is in the dressing room and sends Callum a desperate look.

“This has to be a thousand pounds,” she hisses at him. “I can’t afford any of these. She’s out of her mind.”

Cal laughs at her and makes sure to keep his voice down. “I know, right?” He pats his waist coat. “This is five hundred, tailored, for a charity thing last November. This.” He plucks at the white shirt. “Twenty at the local shop. Pants were sixty but also tailored up.”

“Callum, my cousin is mad,” Hermione insists. He stands up from the lush couch and joins her at the rack of dresses. He eyes them and pulls a pretty sundress in a pale pink. Its beautiful

“Here, try this one one,” he says holding it out to her. “Just put it on.” She takes it warily but marches into a dressing room. It's pretty on her, looks nice against her skin but her teeth and her hair and her _trainers_ ruin the entire thing. Also, there’s no price tag on this one either.

“Oh, that’s so cute on you,” Etta coos when she exits the room. Etta looks beautiful in a strapless A-line dress. She hits Cal’s shoulder. “Doesn’t Mione look good in that, Cal?”

“Of course she does,” he says mock-exasperated. “She’s your cousin and no one in your family can look bad in anything.” Hermione stares at him. “How do you like it, Hermione?”

“I-I don’t know,” she says, rubbing the skirt fabric between her fingers. “It's alright. A bit much, maybe.” Because her hair and nails and everything is too little. Cal hums and pulls another dress for her as Etta floats into the other dressing room with a new dress herself.

“Try this one instead.” It goes on for five more dresses (more for Etta.) before Cal finally looks at the hovering sales attendant. “Hm, I think your designs are a bit mature for our Mione. We’re going to move on. Any suggestions?” The girl suggests a few stores and boxes up Etta’s purchase, rings up Cal’s credit card and wishes them luck. Hermione didn’t hear any prices actually being discussed. The card was just passed, ran, signed for and poof.

The next store has the same set up. Racks rolled into a private room, refreshments, no price tags. Only one dressing room this time so Hermione sits next to Cal on the couch while her cousin is changing.

“Price doesn’t matter,” he offers quietly. Hermione glances at him but moves her attention back to the dress in her lap.

“Mum and dad are dentists. It sort of does,” she says. “My school uniform and books are expensive. They saved up for this trip and Uncle Jean paid for the plane tickets.”

“Mione,” he says, putting a hand on her shoulder. “She slipped your mum’s card back into her purse when she went to the bathroom.” She turns her head to look at him, surprised. His face is open and his eyes honest. “Price does not matter. I just dropped 3000 on two dresses for your cousin and I paid for breakfast.” Her mouth drops open a little. “I love Etta. I want to make her happy. This makes her happy and getting to know you makes her happy and you being happy will make her happy.”

“We’ve barely met,” Hermione says awkwardly. 

“I know but she’s been so excited since she found out you were coming this summer,” Cal explains. “She wanted to visit in December and I was going to fly her out but you stayed at school. She was so disappointed.”

“But… why? She’s never been interested in me before,” Hermione says. She earns a shrug.

“I think Mor and I gave her a wake up call,” he says, voice dropping more. “I have another cousin, Ev’s son, who because of his birth situation, we rarely get to see. We don’t even acknowledge him as family. My second cousin, so my father’s cousin’s daughter, I just met a few years ago, after she and Mor graduated, because _her_ mum’s home life was so awful, she ran away from both sides. Mor has a younger brother who she hasn’t seen since she left home at sixteen. One of our best friends never told his parents he was friends with us and now she works with his older brother. Both of them left their home, warm and loving homes, because they knew being friends with Mor and my second cousin was controversial. Etta knows all this and I think she’s worried you’ll drift so far away from her, it’ll be impossible to find you again. She’s scared that once your grandmother dies, your mum and her dad will lose contact and she’ll be alone.”

Hermione blinks back tears. He hands her a tissue, so she can dab at them instead. “It's- No one ever wants to hang out with me,” she says sadly. He rubs his knuckles across her back in a soothing motion. “Even Ron and Harry didn’t like me much at first. I’m a know-it-all with bucked teeth and awful hair. Parkinson and Malfoy say it all the time. I'm not pretty like her."

His hands stutters as she scrubs at her eyes but he eventually says, "Kiddo, you're 13, a child. You aren't supposed to be model gorgeous at 13. You're supposed to have spots and messy hair and weird lumpiness. Looking like Etta takes work, hours in a salon and hours doing makeup and a very, very generous boyfriend with a trust fund. And _time_ to grow up. I've seen her school pictures, she was a mess. You've got time to just have fun and wear whatever you want and do funky things with your hair. And maybe in the future, you'll look at the chemicals that Etta uses on her hair and the mountain of product that's invaded my bathroom sink and shower and decide that it's not for you either. You are what you make you, not what they want you to be, understand."

She sniffles but nods. It makes sense. She's seen Pansy with spots and Millie is wider than her. She knows Padma and Parvati have gotten _comments_ about their jewellery and hair, just like her. She knows it's not just the Slytherins that are mean. The Slytherins are just a new kind of bully, based on her blood status. There are still the other muggleborns who come from people like Mrs. Willis of 19 and Lanon's dad with words she'd long since internalized and made into background noise. 

"Good," he says, sounding a bit relieved. "So let's try to have fun and you can pick out anything you like. No price tag will come close to what my sisters will choose, I promise." She gives him a weak smile and watches something a little weird come across his face. Like he wants to ask a question but doesn't know how. "Hermione, do you know who Al-"

"Tah-duh!" Etta announces throwing open the curtain. Cal and Hermione both jump and look at her dramatically leaning against the wall in an amazing purple dress. She's smiling brightly but it instantly turns into concern. "What's the matter?"

"Oh, I er-" Hermione says, dropping her eyes to the tissue in her hand. 

"I think the perfumes are acting up on her allergies," Cal lies smoothly. "You know, like at the one shop Fi refuses to go in because it makes her a bit dizzy."

"Oh, of course," Etta says after a little pause. "Well, why don't you try on that dress Mione while I glance through the shoes then we can move on."

"Oh, no, that's okay," she says awkwardly. "There's very pretty things here for you."

"Yes but I'm getting famished and there's a dozen more stores we can try," Etta says closing the curtain. She's out in seconds, bullies Hermione into the dressing room. She actually really doesn't like the dress she tries but Etta has her try on some flats that she does like and they're bought and her trainers are sent off to Cal's flat building with the rest of Etta's things because no one wants to carry them. They get a spot of lunch. "How's that cute neighbor of yours doing?"

"Evan?" she asks, wrinkling her nose. She sees Cal almost spill the creamer for his coffee.

"No, the other one, his boyfriend," her cousin says. "I had such a thing for him last time I came over. The dorky one."

"That's still Evan," Hermione says amused. "He likes maths and is a _book dealer_."

Her cousin sighs. "The cute professor one, baby cousin. Not the hottie nerd with the sad eyes."

She smiles a little. "Matt is good. He got a promotion and tenure. I didn't get to see him much but Evan said he's working on a new book."

"Your neighbor is a writer?" Cal asks interested.

"Don't get your hopes up, Cal," Etta says. "He's a Psych professor. Not lit. It's probably about how to train your kids into geniuses."

"Oh, actually," Hermione says perking up. "His last book was a novel. Murder mystery. I haven't read it because it's mature themed but mum liked it. She says Matt has a way with words." This brings them into the world of Books and books have never failed her.

She ends up with three dresses at the end of day. Along with two pairs of shoes and five books from a second hand shop. Hermione's mum and aunt coo over the dresses at dinner that night when Cal and Etta leave for a dinner with their friends. Hermione’s father makes protesting noises over it while Uncle Jean tries to assure him that Cal can certainly afford it.

===

Hermione wears her new black sundress on the train to Dijon. It's an A-line style, with a high neckline that covers everything below her collarbones, besides her shoulders. It flares out at the waist, made a little poofier by a petticoat, and comes to just below her knees. When she spins, the extra fabric flairs dramatically. But it's the embrioried prints that attracted her to it. White and pink roses are stitched into the skirt and it made her think of Evan’s yard. The first dress she actually liked on her. Letta had found her matching pink flats and had helped her that morning to pull her hair back in braids against her skull but left the majority of her hair into a poofy halo of curls behind her head. Then she had dusted on some pink glittery blush and given her a tube of pink gloss for her lips. Then she gave Hermione a pair of tight mid-thigh shorts with a wink and a ‘For the chaffing’.”

For the first time ever, Hermione felt pretty and girly.

“Do you like Cal?” Etta asks her, absently. They’re several seats away from their parents. Hermione was watching the scenery while Etta had been reading a magazine.

“Hm?” Hermione asks looking away. “Oh, um yes. He’s very nice.”

Etta smiles, like she’s relieved to hear it. “He is so kind and generous. Mum and papa don’t like him much, thinks he’s too nice.”

“And Meme Cléa doesn’t either,” she points out.

“She just says that to tease him.” Her cousin runs her thumb along the edge of the magazine. “She was the one that talked me into getting serious with him. She told me that he reminded her of the posh prats she worked with after the war. When she was doing unmentionable things in Brazil and South America for unnamed agencies. They were rough and snotty and you could cut a diamond on them but passionate. That’s my Cal.”

Hermione thinks for a bit. “I’m sorry that I was rude at breakfast that day.” Etta blinks at her in a little confusion. “I was rude when you introduced us, then I asked all that personal stuff.”

“Ah, it's okay.” She tucks some of her hair behind her ear. “Cal wasn’t offended. He knows when someone is being nasty or not. He gets all sorts of questions from his sisters since his grandfather has a hard time answering them.”

Hermione supposed she might have a hard time if her sons were murderers and one offed himself. “Still though, I didn’t even greet him properly. I was trying to be like the posh rich girls at school and it was dumb.”

Etta gives a quirky little smile. “Oh, he liked that. He grew up with posh rich girls, being a posh rich boy. He likes when me or his friends mock him for it. A lot of people see his name and try sucking up to him. He said you were like Meme, a breath of fresh air.” She goes on to tell Hermione about the ridiculousness of Lee and Will and Dora mocking Cal and Mor for the sticks up their bums.

Cal meets them at the train station which is full of people and flowers. He sweeps Etta up off her feet in their hug, spinning her around and dropping her back to her dove grey pumps. She’s wearing a dress of lavender with a big chunky grey belt and it perfectly matches Cal’s grey shirt and pants and the lavender waistcoat. Even her silver jewellery matches his watch and buttons and a clunky signet ring. The ring has a rose on it and a dragon head so it's probably a family thing.

“Morning, Lebruan and Grangers,” Cal greets holding Etta close to his side.

“Where’s your sisters?” Marie asks after greetings. “Didn't you come out yesterday to meet them here?”

“Took off on me. I told them to meet us for lunch at 11:30,” he explains exasperated. “I’m forced to bend to their will of going to hang out with their own friends instead of meeting my girlfriend’s family.”

“Can’t blame them there,” Cléa snorts. “Who wants to hang out with this boring lot? Poor Hermione.”

“If we see them, maybe she’d like to tag along,” Etta suggests.

“It's alright,” Hermione says. She did not want to be forced upon her cousin’s boyfriend’s younger sister and cousin. “I’m just here for the flowers and touristing.” 

“Let's get to it,” Cal says smiling at her. The Florissimo is a riot of colors and flowers and people. It's not Hermione’s thing but she picks up facts and stories from vendors about their flowers. White and pink rose buds end up in her hair, stuck there by Etta and Cal both to match the ones on her dress. At the restaurant for lunch, there’s a note left for Cal that says his sisters ate early and were off again with friends. He rolls his eyes at that and assures a tittering Jane that they’d be fine.

“I’d like to browse the shops,” Marie says after lunch. Jane and Etta of course, agree. Greg and Jean are talking about a pub a few doors down, Cléa putting in she could use a rest too.

“I’d like to see the Notre Dame,” Hermione says quietly.

“We’ll go later dear,” Jane says dismissively. “Didn’t you want to get Ron and Harry souvenirs?”

“I got them in Paris, mum,” she insists. She does _not_ want to go shopping with Etta and Marie. 

“I’ll take her,” Callum offers. “We’ll go to the Palace of Dukes then Notre Dame.”

“Oh, I’m sure you don’t want to leave Etta,” Jane says at their intertwined fingers.

“I want to go with Cal,” Hermione agrees quickly. “I’m shopped out, mum. We went shopping the day before yesterday.”

“I’m rather shopped out too,” Cal teases his girlfriend. “Some of us had to take their sisters shopping yesterday too. Something educational will get the miles of silk and tulle burned into my eyes to go away maybe.”

“Oh fine,” her mum says. “But you stay with Callum and don’t wander off. No sidetracking.” This is said in the same way about when they take trips into London, there would be no going to Diagon. She knew there was a few magical spots in Dijon, she’d looked through Hermione’s tour book on the plane. She hands Hermione some euros. “Just in case. Callum is being very nice bringing you about. Don’t cause him trouble.”

“Yes mum,” she says and soon enough she’s walking off with the French 20 something year old. “I won’t wander off. I’m 13, not 3.”

“She’s just worried,” Cal says amused. “Grandfather used to say the same thing when my uncle would take me and Mor out.” He pays for her ticket into the Palace and talks about little factoids he knows about the artists or subjects. It's weird to see portraits that are stagnant these days. She’s so used to Hogwarts’ gossips, the dancing bears actually dancing and painted wings beating. They spend two hours in the Palace of Dukes before Hermione gets bored and wants to move on to Notre Dame du Dijon.

It's a beautiful building, with spires and gargoyles. It makes her think of Hogwarts but the inside is clearly muggle. Its frescoes are of religious iconography, statues are of the Virgin and her black painted face.

“Are you religious?” Hermione asks quietly. People are praying in the pews, someone is crying and she’s looking at the Black Virgin’s creepy face and vial.

“Yes,” Cal says back. He’s studying the offerings before the statue. “But not like this. My family has an… older religion.” Hermione doesn’t point out that the church is well over 700 years old and Christianity is closing in on 2000. “What about you? The Grangers church goers?”

“Church of England,” she confirms. “We used to go every Sunday morning but… Not since I’ve gone off to school.” Because the Church burned witches once upon a time. Greg and Jane may believe in God but they were sensible. Subjecting their sensible daughter to Religion when she was the thing that Religion spoke against, was insensible. She was a witch. She’s suddenly struck by the thought, does the magical world have a religion? Maybe that’s why the purebloods were so traditional. Their culture was being crushed out by the culture of the incoming muggleborns. She knew Halloween and Christmas were once something else. Nights of magic and spirits before the witch hunts. She wished History of Magic wasn’t so far two years of Goblin Rebellions. Maybe the Founders had split because of religious differences. Maybe Salazar Slytherin didn’t hate muggleborns but hated what was happening to their world. Hogwarts was made when the Romans were taking over, wasn’t it? “Mum and dad still go but I stay home or hang out with our neighbors. Seems a bit silly with all we know.” Let him believe she means science, not magic. 

“Hm, let’s go see the Bell mechanism then we’ll see the owl,” he says, gesturing her out. They see the inside of the church bells then are on the sidewalk. Hermione looks up at the owl statue carved into the wall and wonders how many thousands of hands have smoothed it down. “So the story is that if you touch it and make a wish, it might be granted.”

“My neighbor said he always got lucky afterwards,” she says rolling her eyes. She’d just be able to reach it if she reached up.

He laughs. “That’s certainly a line. Do you have a wish?” She thinks and nods. “Great. So my family is from around here. I was always told to use my left hand.” He wiggles his fingers at her, ring flashing in the sunlight. “And say ‘ _Sois béni_ ’.” She repeats it back to him, just to make sure she has the pronunciation down. She knows French since her mum and Evan would speak it with her but it's sloppy in her mouth, like Latin spells those first few weeks. Finally he approves.

She steps up to the statue, very aware the street is clearing out. Which is good because she’s not sure she wanted tourists watching her or the locals judging. She closes her eye when she touches owl and murmurs, “ _Sois béni_ ” wishing for her friends happiness and safety this year. Sometimes she wakes from her dreams stiff as stone. She steps back when she’s done. Her eyes pop open when sound assaults her and air significantly warmer touches her skin.

There before her, next to the corner where the Owl sits, is an opening in the wall. It's an arch that matches the Cathedrals' motif but beyond the arch is a market square surrounded by buildings. She can see potions and magical artifacts and there’s _witches and wizards. She just opened a portal in front of a muggle_. Oh no, she’d messed up. She spins to see if Cal looks terrified. She’s going to have to grab one of the adults in there to contact the local Ministry and-

He’s smiling that weird smile at her. The one that looks like a secret. Like he knows and she knows but everyone else around them has no idea. Oh. “ _Oh_ ,” she says relief crashing over her.

“Thought so,” he says in agreement. “I mean Malfoy, okay but Malfoy _and_ Parkinson.” He puts a hand on her shoulder and pushes her in. through the arch. “Come on, before the charms start acting up and the tourists notice something weird.” Hermione steps through with him and lets the magic flow over her. She almost wants to cry because all vacation, she’s been magicless. She’s been cut off from her new wonderful world and this…

“What’s this place called?” she asks. “It's like Diagon, right?”

“Marché des Miracles but everyone just calls it the Market,” Callum answers, holding her out of the way of a gorgeous blond woman and a girl trailing after her. 

“Bonjour, Callum,” the woman greets.

“Bonjour, Lady Delacour, Gabriella,” he says back politely. “How did exams go, Gabs?”

“I failed potions,” the daughter said sourly. She’s a few years younger than Hermione, probably a soon to be second year. “It's stinky.” She looks at Hermione curiously. Lady Delacour is also looking at her curiously.

“Distant relative from England,” Cal answers the unspoken question. “I’m just showing her around while she’s in the country.”

“You’re such a good boy,” Delacour says patting his cheek. “Tell Corin that my uncle-in-law wants a chat soon.”

“Oh? I thought Abraxas was in England visiting his grandson?”

Her nose wrinkles and she says something rude in French. It does not subtract from her attraction. “He is. That son of his has caused a stir again. He should be gone with him and take the little one just like Corin did.”

“It's a bit more complicated with his wife’s family,” Cal says. “The old man doesn’t want to cross Archie, just in case.” She sighs and murmurs blessings. “Well, we’ll let you get back to your shopping. Tah, Gabs. Give my best to your sister. And your husband of course, Lady.”

“Tah, Callum,” Gabs says before she’s tugged away.

“Distant relative?” Hermione asks after they’ve gone and Cal’s moved her towards the stalls.

“My- do you know what Death Eaters are? I don’t know if that’s taught or well known,” Cal says frowns.

“You-know-who’s minions,” she says promptly. Of course she knew. She’d had to look up the word mudblood. Panic slithers up her spine. “Wait, are you-”

“No, oh gods no,” Cal says quickly. “I’m not. Hermione, that wouldn’t even make sense. I’m dating your muggle cousin.”

She relaxes. “Oh right.” She frowns still. “Wait, does she know yet? About magic.” Because if Etta knew, then Hermione could probably get her mom to let Etta and Cal take her off to the magical tourist places…

“No, at least I haven’t told her yet,” he answers. “I’m going to tell her soon but I was waiting. I don’t want her to freak out, obviously but I also want to make sure we were both serious about the relationship before I went and broke the Statue.”

“Oh,” she says, a little disappointed. “Are you going to tell her while I’m here? Oh, I could tell her.”

He flashes her a smile but shakes his head. “Let me do it after you leave. I don’t want you to get hurt and have to deal with the Ministry. It’ll be a big deal and pulling your family into things. If I tell her and she can’t accept it, I’ll be able to break up with her without you having to confront anyone about her intolerance and you won’t be in trouble with the government.”

Hermione looks at the potions in front of her. “Oh, yeah. That makes sense.” She feels disappointed that she won’t be able to share this world with her cousin during this trip. Maybe the next one. “You’ll write me if she takes it all right?”

“Of course. I was planning it for my birthday in August so if it goes well, maybe we’ll come up for Winter Holidays. I’d like to see Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley without it being a work thing.”

“So why did you tell that lady we were related?” she asks going to a different stall to look at charmed charms.

“No one knows I’m dating Etta besides my friends and my sisters. I haven’t told my grandfather yet. I don’t know if he’ll be pureblood about it or not.”

“Do- did he support You-Know-Who?” She realizes suddenly. “Oh, your parents and uncles were Death Eaters.”

“He didn’t support him,” he answers, picking up a pretty blue pendant. “But he is a Lord. He’s very tolerant to Bill and Charlie despite being ‘blood-traitors’ and barely blinks at muggle-borns these days. A full muggle though? I want to make sure _Etta_ is ready for the Secret before I go ruining my reputation with my grandfather. Do you like any of these? Maybe for your mom.”

“I don’t think I should tell them you’re a wizard. She can have a big mouth sometimes and might forget herself to pester you with questions.”

“I’ll send it directly to your house and you can give it to her for her birthday,” he offers. Hermione picks out a pretty silver bracelet with a single ruby. Supposedly, it has a minor charm against the cold. They move on to the next stall which sells sweets. “They were Death Eaters. I saw very bad things when I was with them. Mor saw far worse after the war.”

“I think I know the name Rosier from the books,” she says frowning. “She must’ve had parents like Mr. Malfoy who paid their way out?”

“Yeah or lied and said they were forced. They weren’t,” Cal says grimly. “Elliot Nott was just as monstrous as my father and uncle. Grandfather just refused to pay their defenses.”

“I go to school with a Theodore Nott.” She thinks. “Is that the brother she can’t see?”

“Exactly so. And Draco Malfoy is her godbrother too. Oh and Draco’s grandmother on his mother’s side is my great-aunt. Your friend Ron is a Weasley right?”

“Yes and Harry Potter is my other friend.” She expects him to ask about that but he gives her a small smile.

“Ron’s mom is Draco’s mother’s cousin on the other side. And Allponine’s husband is a Malfoy through the maternal line,” he finishes. “So over all, I say distant relative and she thinks nothing of it. I don’t have to go explaining where I picked a muggleborn girl up from. Sort of awkward with the age differences you know?” She wrinkles her nose. “And you won’t show up to school being pestered about why you’re hanging out with the Rosier Heir.”

“Cal!” a young voice calls. A brown haired girl in a blue frock dress latches onto his waist. She looks about two years younger than Hermione. Another girl who is probably two years older hurries up after her. Both of them, just from family resemblance, are probably his ‘sisters’, Elian and Fiona. The younger start babbling about things in French while the older girl studies Hermione curiously.

“Hello, I’m Hermione,” she greets, holding out her hand.

“Fiona Rosier,” she answers, swinging the name like it _means_ something. Hermione puts on a polite smile as they shake hands. “You are Hogwarts?” Her accent is much heavier than Callum’s.

“Oh, er yes,” she says. 

“Fi, this is Etta’s cousin from England,” Cal says pressing a hand down on Elian’s head. “Mione, this is Fi, my sister and Elian, our cousin.”

“Oh, you are Etta’s,” Fiona said, warmer. “I adore your cousin. She is very fashionable.” She peers at Hermione’s dress. “Are you too?”

“Oh, Etta and Cal brought me to find a dress a few days ago,” she says embarrassed. She basically spent this girl’s money. “I mostly just wear my jeans and sweaters. Or uniform at school.” Fiona grins.

“No,” Cal warns his sister. “We’re at a limited time here before I have to bring her back to her family. They think we’re at the Palace.”

“But Cal,” Fiona complains. 

“Just come South next week with us and bring your wardrobe,” he says dismissively at her. To Hermione he says, “My sister is worse than Etta with clothes. We should get you an expanding backpack then you can buy whatever and your parents won’t notice.”

“Oh there was a pretty one in the shop,” Elian says sliding her hand into Hermione’s. The young girl drags her away. Cal scolds his cousin but doesn’t actually stop them. For the next two hours, Hermione browses the shops like she never really gets to at Diagon with her parents. And everything she shows more than a little interest in, ends up in the blue bag that can hold anything that fits through the opening. She protests every time Cal or Fiona buys her something but they ignore her. Finally she’s let loose in a book shop. Fi follows her around, carrying books dutifully, while Cal is with Elian in the more children’s section.

“You can stop protesting,” Fiona says. Hermione looks up from the Tome of Tunes. “About us buying you things.”

“But you don’t have to. I don’t need all this stuff.”

“Need and want are different.” She taps a green painted nail against her chin thinking. “Need is food and shelter, non? Want is light and happiness, want is love. We have much want and little worry for need. Cal loves Etta and so he wants you to be happy for her. Family is very important to Cal.”

“Because of your parents,” Hermione says and watches as surprise flashes across the girl’s face. She winches. “Sorry. He, erm, told me the other day, before we knew about-” She waves around herself.

“Hm, yes, because of those people,” Fiona agrees. “But mostly because of our other uncle. Not Elain’s father, the one who died. Cal adored him. I barely remember him and Elain doesn’t at all. But Cal does and sometimes on very bad days, Cal wakes up screaming his name. So now Cal tries to always make sure everyone has what they want and is open as possible if we need to talk to him about something. It's what Uncle Ev didn’t have.”

“Oh, okay,” Hermione says looking at the book in her hands. “He is very good at comforting people.”

“Too good sometimes,” she sighs disgusted. “I was broken up with and just wanted to cry and cry but non, here comes Callum to make me feel better about my crushed heart with _advice_ and _reasonability_. He did not even bring ice cream and chocolates, yet I felt better.”

Hermione giggles and asks what she learned in school in second year so they could compare. Cal buys her eight whole books, Elian three and Fiona doesn’t get any. Then he brings them to an ice cream shop that has more flavors the Florence's. 

“Okay, last stop is Rechercher et Trouver,” Callum says looking at his watch. “It's almost dinner time and I’m sure Hermione’s family is wondering where she is.”

“What Rechercher et trouver?” Hermione asks following him. The girls follow after her.

“It's a… curio shop, I suppose. Pawn store? A bit of both,” he explains squinting in thought. “Oh, er-” He glances at her. “It's not exactly a Light Aligned shop so if you want to wait out here, Elian will stay with you. I’ve just got to pick something up my boss ordered.”

“Like the shops in Knockturn?” she questions. She doesn’t see any side alleys. Everything in the Market is well lit and clean.

“A bit. England has much more clear cut lines between Light and Dark though,” he says frowning. “So it's not a to do if someone is seen in here or not.”

“Sounds interesting then.” It is. It's like a muggle pawn shop but no electronics and most things had notes not to touch or be cursed. The books are where Hermione finds herself again, looking through titles as Fiona and Elian look at the jewellery behind glass cases and Cal bickers with the shopgirl about his order.

“Ah, young Lord Rosier,” an older gentleman says after the girl’s gone off in a huff. He sounds Italian. Hermione peaks around the corner and freezes. There’s an gentlemen Clea’s age with tawny skin and a suit that’d put Lucius Malfoy in the cleaners. But next to him is Blaise Zabini. He looks bored, dressed down in black slacks and a navy button down with the sleeves pushed up. He also was staring off into space, _in her direction_.

“Lord Zabini,” Cal greets. Blaise’s eyes meet Hermione’s and his left eyebrow raises, followed by the second one. “How have you been?” Hermione ducks back behind the shelves. She tries to calm her beating heart. Oh no, one of Malfoy’s friends has seen her in this not-purely-legal shop in France with just the Rosiers around. Oh, this could go so-

“Is Charlie with you?” Blaise asks curiously. 

“Er, no. They all went to Egypt to visit Bill,” Cal says. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, that’s his best mate dressed in Rosier colors hiding around the corner.” The damn Slytherin sounds so damn amused. Hermione glares down at the pink and white roses. 

“Blaise, not every rose is related to the Rosiers,” Lord Zabini sighs.

“But she’s in the shop with three of them,” he points out cheerilly. “Hullo Granger.” She groans and slides back into view. 

“Er, hello, Zabini, um sir,” she greets. Fiona is eyeing the backs of the two with the same intensity of Ron thinking about how to take down Goyle and Crabbe.

“Nonno, this is Hermione Granger,” Blaise introduces with a smile. “She’s the Gryffindor trouncing me in every subject. Granger, this is my grandfather, Adam Zabini.”

“Oh, the one I keep telling you to model your studies after,” the man greets looking her over. “Hello young lady. Call me Adam. Is Cal showing you a good time?”

“Oh, um, yes sir,” Hermione, glancing at the other man. Callum just looks resigned to his fate. “Blaise is actually rather good in school. He’s always at the library with Nott.”

“I know. It's his inability to _apply_ himself,” Adam says elbowing his grandson in the shoulder.

Blaise grievances before saying, “I apply myself. To not trounce Draco’s marks. He gets shouted at enough.” Cal’s face twists a little at that. “But speaking of Theo, we’ve just been with his sister.”

“Oh, Mor is around?” Callum asks, scanning the shop like he’s looking for someone else.

“Yes! She just introduced us to this lovely young muggle woman, her mother and aunt at Au Buffon while we were taking a bite,” Adam answers cheerfully. Cal drops his face into a hand.

“She did?”

“Oh yes, she did. That Mor Nott is just the friendliest, isn’t she?” the old man says obviously teasing his younger counterpart. “Knowing muggle women and their female relatives. They were all lovely, very lovely, showing about her aunt while she was visiting France with her family. The older ladies seemed a bit worried because her young cousin went off with her boyfriend somewhere. Cal.”

“Yeah, Adam?” he sighs.

“Your girlfriend is a treasure. Can I be there when you tell Corin?” he asks.

“Are you going to give me the _chance_ to tell gramps?” he shoots back. Adam laughs and claps him on the shoulder. 

“Blaise and I won’t say a thing,” he promises. “Can I tell Abraxas?”

“Naonno, leave Cal alone,” Blaise says, picking at his nails. He meets Hermione’s eye. “We won’t tell anyone. The kids at school might be nasty to Hermione.”

“Malfoy and Parkinson already are,” she grumbles back. He gets a swat to the back of the head.

“You best not be, Blaise. I’ll yank you out of that school so fast a seeker won’t be able to catch you,” Adam warns.

“I’m not!” he complains, rubbing at the spot. “I mostly just ignore her and Potter. I have better things to do that pull Harry’s pigtails.” Hermione almost smiles, because it is a bit like that. He huffs and gives her a serious look. “I wasn’t talking about the Slytherins. Very few of the Old Families lost children in the last war. Rosier was one of them. Slytherins will probably ask you all about Cal and the girls because their uncle’s like a martyr. I was talking about the other side. Theo gets shit and he’s not a prick like Draco. Just be careful telling people you’ve met Cal Rosier. Your friends might not appreciate that he dressed you in his family colors.”

Hermione looks down at her dress with a frown. “I picked this out myself. My neighbor, my muggle neighbor, has rose bushes and he used to have me help to cut them.”

“No one else will care,” Cal admits. “But remember I told you Mor’s friends haven’t told their family we’re friends?” Hermione nods. “I’m talking about Bill and Charlie Weasley. My father was part of the raid that killed Molly’s brothers. Mor’s too.”

She frowns deeply at him. “You’re dating my muggle cousin.”

"You're beating the entire year out with your exam marks," Blaise points out. "Hasn’t stopped anyone from calling you a-” he jerks away from his grandfather whose hand had come up. “Slur. Nonno, I wasn’t going to say it. Anyways, names are important to upper crusty people. _Rosier_ means something and it doesn’t mean ‘dating a muggle.’”

“He’s right and it sucks,” Cal says as the shopgirl comes back with a small ring sized box. “And that’s why I only go to England on business. We have to head out now before I get the muggle police called on me for kidnapping.”

“Ah, of course,” Adam says. “Just a question: does your girlfriend know?”

“No,” Hermione answers for him. “We met two days ago and he used the owl to test if I was a witch.”

Adam beams. “Oh, this will be a delightful show, Callum. Girls, let me know if you need to come stay because Corin and Cal are having a tiff.”

“Okay, Adam,” Fiona answers, linking arms with Hermione. She physically turns her around. “Say hello to your mum, Blaise.”

“I will,” he calls back. “Oh and Granger.” Hermione looks over her shoulder at him. “You look pretty. You should dress up in dresses like that more often.” She’s glad they’re leaving because she can’t hide the blush on her face.

“Told you so,” Callum mutters behind her. They leave the Market and easily find her family with Cal using a spell to find Etta.

“Where have you two been?” Jane asks, a little worried. “Oh, are these your sisters, Callum?”

“Yes, ma’am, Fiona and Elian,” he says pointing at each. “Sorry we disappeared like that. We got caught up at the Palace of the Dukes then ran into my sisters and got pulled along on their adventures.”

“We were showing Hermione around,” Elian insists adorably. Hermione can see her mother soften in the face of a ten year old with a missing canine tooth. “We got ice cream.”

“You’re not supposed to say that,” Fiona says dramatically. “We’re supposed to pretend Cal is an adult who makes us eat our dinners before ice cream, remember?”

“Oh right,” Elian says very seriously. “Cal said we can have ice cream after we eat our dinner, Madam Mione’s mother. He’s _very_ mature and adult-y like that.”

“Everyone is against me, Etta,” Cal says, hiding his face into her shoulder. She makes baby noise and pats his head.

“Oh my poor Cal.” Hermione watches them with a smile and hopes her cousin will take the magic thing well. She’d love to hang out with the Rosiers more, despite everything.

===

Hermione could certainly see why Lisette might have been concerned Morgana Nott had Cal's attention. Stretched out on a beach towel sunning herself next to the brilliant blue of the Mediterranean Sea, Mor had the attention of every male who came across their plot of the beach.

She was tall with legs that went on for miles, a flat stomach and decent sized breasts all shown off or hidden by the Slytherin green bikini. She had a tan but her skin was smooth and obviously naturally pale. Her head was propped up on a rolled up towel and somehow it gave the perfect profile of her gorgeous face and the long black hair pulled into a bun at the top of her head.

Next to her, in the umbrella's shade, Hermione felt a little awkward in her red boyshort bottoms and sports top. She wondered if Etta, stretched out on the blanket next to her in a blue bikini, also felt ugly with her. Maybe not because Etta was beautiful and probably asleep. Her eyes were closed at least and she had headphones on.

"You can go play with the girls and Cal you know," Morgana says. Hermione looks up from the novel (a wizarding mystery book about a pureblood murder, like Clue but with magic) Fiona had handed her when they had gotten to the beach. She meets the woman's green eyes then searches for the trio of magic users. Cal was waist deep, chest bare, in the water. Fiona was trying to knock him down while Elian splashed both of them.

"I'm good here," she assures the woman. "I'm actually pretty tired. It's been non-stop since we got to France."

"Mm, your cousin was ecstatic you were coming," she says. "She wanted to do a million things with you. Cal reminded her that you probably had your own list."

"I do but uh-" She glances at her cousin. The tape is still playing in the walkmen so not paying attention. "-I haven't been able to go certain places. She's all over me and my parents are all over her mum and Mémé. Makes visiting _our_ tourist spots difficult."

"I've been telling Cal to tell her for months now," Mor scoffs. "Especially since we ran into Adam and Blaise a few days ago. But anyways, Cal is gonna make moon eyes at her after we grab lunch and suggest a romantic walk on the beach so I can bring you and the girls to Fortuna's Cove."

Excitement fills Hermione. She knew it was a former temple to the goddess of luck that ran around a hidden cove where mermaids came up to sun themselves. And not the weird ones in the Black Lake but the gorgeous ones. That's exactly where she wanted to go. "Oh, are you sure? I don't want to put you out."

"It's why Cal asked me to come along and bring the girls too," Mor assures her. "He can distract Etta and your family while I bring you to the fun magical places. Fi's gone to these places last summer with the Delacours and Dray but Elian wasn't old enough Corin would let her come. We were going to come for his birthday with our friends and the Delacours only he didn't want you to miss out because of your muggle relatives."

"Oh, thank you very much. He's very thoughtful."

Mor hums in agreement and flips over to sun her back. This isn't as spotless as her front. There's a jagged scar running from her right shoulder to bisect her spine. Like someone took a knife to her. Lower on her left side, near her hip is a tattoo. It's of a rose, black lines and purple coloring and the stem is made of runes. Hermione thinks it might be a name but she wasn't starting that class until September. Above the rose, is nine dots connected by lines. This Hermione knows is the Leo constellation. Cal had the same tattoo in the same spot and Hermione had seen him more than once press his hand there, like a reassurance.

"Can I ask a question?" she asks then quickly adds. "A personal one. Not asking to ask." She hated the 'you just did' jokes.

"The scar or the tattoo?" Mor asks, eyes closed. Hermione is a little surprised but not much.

"Tattoo. The Zabini indicated people could take it the wrong way that I was 'dressed in Rosier colors' but you've got one on your skin," Hermione answers. "Is it different because you're pureblood?"

"I'm a blood traitor," she snorts. "But yes and no. For one, not a lot of purebloods are going to see me in a bikini and those that do, won't care. Those that would care, will see the meaning behind and hopefully keep their mouths shut. For another, I don't particularly care what others think. Roses aren't exclusively Rosier property. And yes, because I'm a pureblood but also, Cal and I are best friends and have been since childhood. Everyone thought I was going to end up a Rosier anyways." They were probably expected to marry then.

"Can I ask what they mean?" she asks. Pureblooded wizards keeping their mouths shut sounded like a miracle. 

Mor is quiet for long enough that Hermione looks at her. She's watching Hermione with a frown but a distant one. The sad look reflects in her deep blue eyes.

Finally, she blinks, focusing back to the here and now. "How much do you know about the war?"

"Not much," she admits. "Mostly Harry's role and the reasons. I haven't dug too far in, trying to catch up on normal magic things. I've mostly had to rely on books. Everyone seems… awkward when I ask questions. And Molly Weasley looks…" she trails off as the woman nods.

"Yeah, yeah that makes sense. I'm sure it's hard. It's hard to find unbiased accounts too. Not that Death Eaters were right but you seem like a facts sort of girl." Hermione smiles. Mor sighs. "Alright, yeah. Cal told you a bit about his family?"

"Supporters, father and uncle in jail, mother and youngest uncle dead," she answers as factually as possible.

The woman snorts. "I hope he gave a little more than that. Did he say how his uncle died?" 

"He said he killed himself after his best friend died."

"That's… a way to put it."

"If it's private, I don't want to pry," she says quickly.

"Its public record, so it's personal but not so private," Mor assures her. "Evan Rosier, that was his name. Well, it's Corin Evan Rosier but he went by Evan so there was no confusion with his dad. He was damn smart like you, if Adam's teasing of Blaise is to be believed. Anyways, his brothers were bastards and he ended up with the Mark at sixteen."

"Mark?" Hermione repeats frowning.

"Oh, it's this tattoo on their arms. It allowed the Dark Lord to call them. You'll notice most will hide them under sleeves or under wand holsters. It's a skull and snake design," she explains rolling her eyes. "So Evan got the Mark at sixteen and so did his best friend, Reg. I say best friend but everyone knew that Ev would've done anything for Reg. Reg's family was bastards too, the very worst, his cousin was Right Hand to the Dark Lord and his mother… well, you heard things about her and the older brother. I know what my father did to quell my rebellious nature and he ran away just like I did."

Her eyes go a little distant but she pulls back quickly. "Reg disappeared when they were 18/19. March of 81. He was the Heir of his House so everyone assumed he died. Picked off by Dumbledore's vigilante group is what our side said; killed for treason is what their's said. On Reg's birthday, Ev ran into some of their people and, well, he was drunk and young and dumb and killed one of them. And one of them killed him.

"It came out later, during trials, that Ev was a traitor, a Ministry spy. His reports went all the way back to his Marking. His testimonials put his brothers in Azkaban and a lot of others. My uncle, uh Luke Nott, who is Cal's boss, he was 15 at the time, got Marked three months before Halloween by force and testified at the trials as well. Rolled on the entire organization. Anyways, Luke said if Ev had survived to give actual witness statements, a lot of people wouldn't have been able to wriggle out of prison." 

She sighs and closes her eyes again. "It came out years later that Fenwick, his victim, had goaded him with Reg's death and shot first. The aurors with Fenwick had been trying to deescalate. One of them was Reg's brother. They knew the date and that he was drunk." She goes quiet for a full minute. "They still don't know how Reg died. The theory is that the vigilantes did it since his brother ended up betraying them and hopping to the Death Eaters. No one really knows.

"The rose is for Ev, obviously. The constellation is Leo, which holds the star Regulus. Reg's entire family is named after stars. The runes say 'Shine Together.' It's what Ev used to say about them: 'We shine together'." She smiles and it's sad but also happy somehow. "Cal told me that after I ran away. He and I, we'd shine together. Which was very romantic for fifteen year old Mor and Cal who had a summer fling which now makes me want to throw up thinking about it."

"That bad?" Hermione asks. "Etta seems to like him." Behind her, she hears Etta groan. She turns to see her cousin sitting up and pulling off the headphones.

"Etta didn't have the sudden realization that as pretty as Callum Rosier is, girls are _far, far_ prettier," Mor answers, taking on a teasing tone. Hermione watches a smile blossom over her cousin's mouth.

"Oh, are we talking about your thing with Cal?" Etta asks. "He always gets grossed out when you bring it up."

"Like kissing my sister," Cal confirms before flopping soaking wet onto Mor's back. She shrieks his name and throws him off. They tussle while Hermione and Etta laugh at them. Cal escapes Mor trying to smother him with her towel pillow and flops panting between Hermione and Etta. Morgana glowers over Hermione at him. "What? You two looked so serious earlier. It's a vacation."

"Hermione asks about our tattoos," Mor says. Cal's smile dims some. "And Etta was sleeping so someone had to keep her entertained."

"Ah, those," he says brushing his hand over the Mark on his hip. "Drunk mistakes all around." He looks over at his girlfriend. "Nice nap, my sunshine princess?"

"It wasn't napping," she says taping the walkmen. "I was listening to a French-to-Romanian lesson. So Charlie and I can gossip like you two and Bill do."

"I feel like it would be easier just to learn Italian," Mor laughs. "French is half-way there."

"Non, I will learn that in secret and learn all the things you don't want me to."

"Aw, Etta, I don’t hide anything from you, baby," Cal says, leaning in to kiss her. She shoves a hand on his forehead.

"Ha! You are always being sneaky sneakers about something." Magic, Hermione thinks, they're hiding _magic_. She wants to blurt it out. Cal opens his mouth. "Bup, bup, oh no. I will figure it out on my own."

Cal sighs dramatically, ducks around her hand and flops onto her chest. This pushes Etta back into a lying position, his head coming to rest on her chest. "Oh very well, I'll keep my secrets and you can be the great detective that uncovers them. Only cause I love you."

Hermione thinks this might be on par with that moment after the troll was defeated. Where she, Ron and Harry were covered in water and troll’s snot and it stunk but they were going to be bonded forever. This is the moment she thinks her cousin could really become a part of her life and find her happiness. They could be family and there would be no secret world between them.

===

Hermione drops onto the bench in the garden behind Evan and Matt's house. Matt had let her through the door but directed her outside because he was doing lesson plans. Evan didn't even notice her, he was so focused on glaring at the tomato plants. 

He was in one of his band tee shirts and a pair of sweatpants today. Hermione was going to guess his problem with the tomatoes was that his left arm was in a cast and sling. She takes the time to study his tattoos. They start at his right wrist with a bracelet of Celtic knots. From there rose vines grow up his arm, through the eyes of a skull, around a snake. At his elbow, the vines blossom into a man, a hunter with a belt of three stars and a bow with a star tipped arrow. It points back down towards his forearm instead of at the Lion with its mane of stars or the dog and it's own collar of stars who circle each other behind the hunter. Like something on his forearm is more dangerous than the Lion.

"How was France?" Evan asks without turning to look at her.

"Wonderful," she answers easily. Her eyes trail to the skull and the snake. "I spent a lot of time with Lisette and her boyfriend. He bought me this dress." Then Evan turns to look her over. Her hair is a mess, she had just rolled out of bed less than an hour ago after going to bed at 7pm when their plane got back in. But she had showered and put the black dress with roses on and her best trainers. 

She watches something _sad_ flash across his face before he smiles. Maybe he was thinking about his mother. "It's very pretty. You look great in it, Mione."

"Thank you. He bought me two others but this is my favorite. I wore it to the Florissimo in Dijon." She wiggles a foot. "Different shoes though." 

"Of course, can't wear sensible shoes with a dress like that," Evan says with a hint of sarcasm. "That's incredibly generous."

"Yeah and I guess he goes on shopping sprees with Etta and his little sisters all the time. Mémé said his family is loaded. He barely blinked at picking up meals and got our hotel rooms all upgraded when we went to the South of France." She smiles. "He's super sweet though. I hope the introduction to his grandfather goes well. I think Etta and Cal could be really great together."

"That's good for your cousin," he says focusing back on the tomatoes again. "Why don’t you throw on some jeans and help me with these stupid stalks while we talk?"

"How about you put on real trousers and bring me to brunch so I can accumulate to the weather and jet lag?" she shoots back. She sees him hesitate. "Come on, I'm tired and I just woke up. I want to share my trip with my favorite babysitter over a full English."

"Oh fine. We'll go to the pub," he says giving in. She hops up as he heads for the back door. "But you're helping me tomorrow. Go tell Jane I'm kidnapping you."

She rushes off back to her living room. Her mother was laying on the couch chatting on the phone with one of her friends.

"Mum, Evan is kidnapping me to brunch, okay?" she asks, squinting at the mirror in the front hall. She tries to smooth her hair down and finally decides to just pull it into a bushy ponytail.

"That's fine. Give him my best," Jane calls. Hermione turns back towards the door. "Oh, Hermione!" She stops and turns to look into the living room. Her mother is holding the phone against her shoulder looking a little guilty. 

"What's wrong?" she asks, frowning. 

"Nothing dear," Jane assures her. "I just want to apologize. I know you wanted to see a lot of places while we were there. You know, the ones in your travel book?" 

"Oh, yes, that's okay, mum," she says quickly. She'd actually managed to see a fair amount once Morgana and the girls got involved. All the ones in Nice and a fair few in Paris they came back from the beach. Fiona would invite her out and Mor would offer to chaperone since Elian wanted to go there as well and just like that, her parents would give her some Euros and send her off with the three purebloods. They would meet up with Cal and Etta sometimes for the muggle spots and meals but she checked off a lot of landmarks and came home with a lot more books than her parents would ever know about. "I had fun with Mor, Fi and Elian when I went out with them and tolerated Etta's sappiness with Callum. I know you miss Mémé and Uncle Jean."

Her mother smiles relieved. "Maybe next summer we can go for a bit and see your spots." 

She smiles back but knows it won't happen. "Sure mum. I gotta go. I'm sure Evan is waiting with that grumpy face."

"You didn't badger him, did you?" she asks amused.

"No, he tried to get me to garden for him. He broke his arm. Bye!" Her mother calls out a farewell and she steps back into the almost sunny day.

Evan is waiting, in jeans now. He makes her hold still as he places one of the white roses from his bushes into her hair. Soon enough, they're seated at the local waiting for their food.

"So how did you break your arm?" she asks watching him struggle with the creamer.

"Fell down some shoddy stairs at a book shop in Turkey," he grumbles. 

"That's funny. Cal's friend was on leave because her temp partner got pushed over a railing. He broke his arm too," Hermione says. Actually, Mor had said they had been in a chase after a thief and the thief had blasted her partner over the railing of some stairs. _He's allergic to Skel-a-grow so he's got to heal the muggle way. Six weeks in a cast, poor bugger. Bill should be back with me before then._ "They were in Greece, I think. She's an Acquisitions Agent. I think that just means licenced thief."

"Those old places are full of accidents waiting to happen," Evan answers. "Licenced thief sounds about right. So, tell me about France. Did you do the Eiffel Tower?"

And she told him about France. Shopping in the fancy stores and eating in restaurants too expensive to have been in. She watched his eyes get a little wistful when she talked about that day on the beach, getting ice cream with Fiona and Elian. The boat along the coast Cal chartered with Uncle Jean. Florissimo and "yes, I made a wish at the owl." The catacombs her grandmother had spirited her away to, where skulls of the dead under the feet of the living were. And the bunker that Cléa had once hid in for two weeks to avoid Nazi capture.

And every so often, her eyes touched on the faded tattoo on his forearm. Every so often, he looked sad or wistful or something she didn't understand but it made her stumble over a thought when faced with it.

A few weeks later, Sirius Black escapes Azkaban. She's helping in the garden, pulling weeds, when Matt comes to the back door.

"Evan," Matt says and holds up the muggle newspaper. ‘ **Killer Escapes’** is printed big and bold on the headline, along with an unmoving picture of Sirius Black. Evan looks at it, looks up a Matt and turns back to the bean vines. 

"Compost is over there, Mattie," he says pointing at the large round blue barrel. Matt rolls his eyes and goes back inside.

"Do you… know him or something?" Hermione asks frowning at him.

"I knew one of the victims. I didn't like him but it was a shock," Evan says evenly. 

===

She gets Etta's letter at the Leaky Cauldron. It's on the leg of a great big horned owl. Arthur sees it in her and Ginny's room but eyes it and says nothing.

Etta's letter says she better come back to France for Christmas. Cal will arrange the _portkey_ but his family celebrates Yule. Hermione smiles so widely it might scare the twins away for a few hours.

She sneak buys a book about the Old Ways. It talks about Samhain and Yule and the Solstice.

She wears her rose dress to the train station. She can see the strain in Molly's face and the confusion on Arthur's but _roses aren't just for Rosiers_ so neither say anything as Ginny coos over it. She holds her head up high on the platform. Zabini and Nott see her. Zabini looks exasperated and he must have said something to Nott, because he gives her a shy, sad looking smile. She can feel Mrs. Malfoy's eyes on her the longest, as Lavender compliments her and agrees to look through the hair charm book Mor had pointed out to help style. Roses aren't just for Rosiers but she wondered if Narcissa Malfoy lost her two favorite cousins so roses and stars reminded her of them.


	2. Why don't we break the rules already?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rich people send Hermione birthday presents, Time-travel is a cop-out and Hermione will fight the government like the little rebel her grandmother and not-uncle encouraged her to be. Werewolves, murderers and soul-eating monsters cause trauma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter covers from the beginning of Third Year to mid-summerish, before the World Cup. 
> 
> TW: Hermione does come face to face with a dementor and the whole 'coma' thing from Second Year gets a new friend in the form of Disassociation. 
> 
> Also, ACAB, kids, never talk to a cop without a lawyer. lawyer=guilty is just Copraganda

Her birthday is in late September. Mum and Dad always send along the presents from them (candy, and money and a soft sweater), from Mémé (more money, a book on the history of Dijon) and from Evan and Matt (Matt's homemade ginger snap cookies, a new set of gloves and hat for the winter). This year, another present arrives for her via another big owl. It's a blue box and when she opens it, it blooms into a bouquet of flowers, mostly roses. The note is from Fiona saying every girl deserves flowers before 15 and the attached box of bonbons Elian picked out herself (and been sick testing the flavors afterwards). There's also a razor sharp potions knife with her initials engraved in the wood handle from Fiona and a pretty blue scarf from Morgana.

"Nice haul," Theodore Nott says sitting down across from her in the library. She looks up from their potions essay to frown at him. 

"Yes, it was," she says cautiously. She'd been doing her best to ignore and be nice to the Slytherins, remembering Cal's words. Theo was smart like his sister and was in both Runes and Arithmancy with her. He also sat in Muggle Studies but he didn't have a book and the teacher didn't call his name and no questions or answers were given. "Can I help you with something?"

"Blaise is distracting Malfoy at the pitch," he says and slides a thin velveted box across the table to her. "This came from his grandfather, a few days ago." Hermione eyes it warily. "It's for you. From… my sister's friend."

From Cal. Who wouldn't risk sending it directly in case the owls were recognized. But it wasn't weird for Blaise to get owls from his grandfather and Morgana worked for him.

Hermione opens the box to find a very pretty rose pendant on a thin silver chain. With a letter stuffed in, folded very small. She reads it. "He says it'll keep my mind from being scrambled?"

"It should help to lessen the effects of the dementors," Theo says. "But its tradition for a girl to be gifted a pendant on her 14th birthday from the family jewels." Hermione's head snaps up at him.

"I'm not-"

"Can you send my sister a letter for me?" he asks bluntly. "Blaise sends them and receives them but I don't like relying on one person."

"Yeah," she says recognizing the slight desperation in his eyes. "Yeah. I send out letters to my parents every first and fifteenth. Just get them to me."

"Wear the necklace," he says, touching the velvet. "But under your clothes. Weasley might not mark it for what it is, where it's from, but a real pureblood might. Draco probably, at least." He leaves her a creamy envelope and a lot of confusion.

She wears the necklace. It does help with the dementors.

===

She doesn't go home for the holidays but she does send Etta a big package of Honeydukes and the tourist guide to Magical France with all the places Mor had brought her marked so Cal should now bring Etta. Etta sends back beautiful sweaters and dresses and books picked out by Cal and the girls. 

Harry gets a broom from a _murderer_. She writes Cal and Mor. They write back that it's probably fine. They, personally, don't believe Sirius Black betrayed the Potters. _I think Pettigrew did it_ , Cal writes _and I think Black's temper got the better of him_. Mor scribbles _Blacks have the temperament of the comet that killed the dinosaurs. Whine Draco up and watch him go for a mini-example._ Cal writes _don't do that_.

She writes that Lupin is a werewolf and about the essay. Mor answers _fuck Severus Snape. That fuck was a DE._ Cal says _Fuck Snape and the ministry bitch who put in the employment act. Werewolves are just people._ He adds an autobiography by Lydia Greyback, born werewolf and the paper on the Wolfsbane potion. And also his card.

"Um, Professor Lupin?" Hermione says sidling up to his desk once the class has cleared out. He looks up and she does her best not to look at his scars. She puts the small piece of cardstock on his desk. 

"What's this?" he asks, picking it up. His brows furrow. It says, in fancy Italics, _Nott Attorney: The Best for Less._ And _Callum Rosier, Junior Attorney._ Lupin looks up at her with some humor. “Are you suing me because I gave you a 97 on the last paper, Miss Granger?”

“Erm, no,” she says, glancing around the room to see if anyone else was lingering. “Er, my cousin is dating Cal.” Lupin looks surprised. “He says to let him know when you want to ruin ‘that ministry bitch’s life’. I don’t know what that means but I know he’ll do it pro bono. Or, I guess specifically, ‘for the laughs.’” Which is a lie. She knows exactly which Ministry Secretary Cal and his boss, Lucas Nott, want to end. It will be for laughs but also because Lord Rosier, Lord Malfoy (who is not Draco’s dad but his grandfather) and Lord Zabini are all big proponutes for demi-human rights in the rest of Europe. Lord Malfoy’s nephew married a half-veela (Lady Delacour). “I have to get to Ancient Runes.”

“Right, um thank you?” Lupin says as she hurries off. She almost trips over Blaise outside the door.

“Were you eavesdropping?” she asks as they head for Runes.

“You’re such a Slytherin, Granger,” he answers. “‘I don’t know what that means’. Cal and Luke going after the Werewolf Acts?”

“Trying to, I think,” she admits. “You know?”

“I also wrote the essay,” he points out. “And you know, Nonno employs them. We’re working on making the Wolfsbane Potion more effective.”

“Why does Nott go to Muggle studies but isn’t on the roll call?” she asks him bluntly. He gives her a sideways look. 

“What do you think someone like his father would do if his grades came in with that as an elective?” She didn’t even think of that. “The professor is used to letting purebloods sit in. She’ll submit a letter of recommendation directly to places they apply after school if needed.”

===

Fuck Severus Snape, indeed, Hermione thinks with pure frustration as she and Ron try to convince the Minister that Sirius was _innocent._

“The children are obviously confounded,” Snape drawls. 

“We are not,” Hermione insists through a mouthful of chocolate. “We saw Peter Pettigrew. Mr. Black wasn’t the Potters’ Secret Keeper.” She glowers at Snape. “You were being childish so they knocked you out and-”

“Child, I’m sure this has all been very confusing for a girl of your background,” Fudge says in that tone. Oh she knows that tone. It's the tone of Mrs. Willis of 19; of the shop bloke that followed her about the shop and Evan told her to never go there again; of the witch at Florish and Blotts. It _enrages her_. Dumbledore intervenes before she can lose it and Harry wakes up then and the Minister walks away with the auror and Snape.

“Two turns I think will do it, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore says. And no, _no, no_. Not this way. “I’ll lock you in.” The doors just click shut for half a second before Hermione rips open the doors.

“Mione, where are you going?” Ron calls as she darts past the surprised Headmaster.

“To be stupid,” she shouts back. “Someone call Lucas Nott.” She hears Harry try to follow but knows Dumbledore won’t let that happen. She runs up the stairs, feels the coldness of dementors as she gets closer. To be stupid is right. But more importantly, she can hear Evan in her head, _do the right thing, always._ She could turn back time and release Sirius or she can do the right thing, the thing that let’s him walk free.

She slams into the door, past the auror before he can grab her and throws herself in front of Sirius’ cell. He’s pressed as far from the cell door as possible, far away from the Minister and Snape peering in and the dementor waiting beyond the hazy silverish fog. She leans against the cold bars, panting.

“Miss Granger!” Snape snaps. Hermione gulps to get her breath back.

“Yo-you can’t give him the Kiss,” she tells Fudge.

“Young lady, we most certainly can. He is a monster, one that has escaped-”

She takes another deep breath and drags the pendant out of her shirt. It _glows_ in the presence of the dementor. A star in the shape of a rose. Behind her, she can hear Sirius take a deep breath. “You cannot. If you do, without investigation, ignoring able minded witnesses on the word of a _Death Eater_ -” She stresses the title, the reminder that Snape wasn’t always good. “-Who is a known turncoat, you will be _finished_.”

Fudge’s nose flairs in annoyance. “Snape was an Order spy. He was cleared of all charges.”

“Yes, that’s very nice for him,” Hermione answers, digging deep. Finding that strength that her grandmother used to survive the War and passed on to her. “But did anyone ever name Sirius Black in their trials?” 

“No but-”

“Did Evan Rosier?” Fudge looks slapped.

“How do you know that name?” Snape demands of her. 

“You-” God she hopes Morgana was right. “You used the testimony and reports by Evan Rosier to put dozens away, _including_ his own brothers. Evan Rosier was a Ministry informant from the time he was Marked at 16 and he was best friends with Sirius’ younger brother, who _was_ a Death Eater. Why-” She desperately ignores the pained noise of Sirius behind her, the hiss of the dementor. “Rosier was killed by an Order member-”

“Alastor Moody was an auror. A respected one at-”

“And Sirius was an auror as well,” she shoots back. “He was there when Rosier died, right?”

“Yes,” the auror says from the doorway. “Moody and Black both reported they tried to deescalate the situation and the Order member shot Rosier first.”

“So the theory is that Sirius jumped to the Death Eaters after his brother’s disappearance but he would’ve known before the Potters’ deaths that the Death Eaters thought it was the Order who killed his brother and visa versa.”

“Minister,” the auror says, staring at the pendant.

“What Abbott?” Fudge says exasperated.

“The girl is right,” Abbott says carefully. “If you end Black tonight, you’ll end yourself. Both of you.”

“And why is that?” Snape snaps at him.

“Because Luke Nott won’t play games.” He nods at Hermione. “And this little girl is holding a Rosier Heirloom with anti-confounding charms on it. The only person in this room with Occulamy enough to twist around that is _you_ , Severus.”

“What does Luke Nott have to do with anything?” Fudge says, throwing up with his hands. “Where did she get a Rosier charm?”

“Morgana Nott was rumored to be showing a young muggle-born around France,” the auror says shrugging. “The Lords dot on her. Auror Tonks has a Rosier Charm bracelet from Miss Nott. You’ll remember that Sirius Black left his family for very similar reasons Miss Nott did. Only she appeared in the Ministry screaming and bleeding that we were all useless because her father was a Death Eater and _we let him go_. Luke Nott testified at a lot of trials and now he’s a lawyer. A lawyer that is _very_ connected and _very_ good and _not_ above dragging his experiences as a Death Eater trainee out to ruin people.”

“Fine! What do you suggest we do?” Fudge demands crossing his arms.

“Minister, you cannot be serious,” Snape says. “Rosier charms or not, probably stolen ones at that, Black blew up an alley of people. He went after Potter just tonight.”

“Call Nott and tell him he has a new client?” Abbott suggests. Fudge groans.

“We’ll have to wait for the morning, I doubt-”

“Hermione,” Bill Weasley calls bursting into the room. And behind him, a man in his low thirties or even late twenties, with blond hair and a gleam of bloodlust. He’s dressed simply in black trousers, a white shirt and a robe thrown over. He looks like Theo and Mor. His left sleeve is scrunched up so she can see the Dark Mark, bisected by two scars. Like someone dragged a knife through its eyes and through the snake’s head.

But seeing Bill makes her finally let out the sob that’s been building and she sinks to the floor. Bill comes to crouch next to her, rubbing her shoulder.

“How did you get here so quickly?” Snape hisses at Luke Nott. He gets an amused look from the lawyer.

“I was visiting my niece and Bill. You get up when a fourteen year old sticks his head through the floo and shouts that his best friend is going to kill their Potions professor and the Minister of Magic. If only to cheer her on,” Luke says.

Hermione lets out a hysterical laugh. “That’s the stupidest thing he could come up with?”

“Er, Hermione, why are you sitting in front of Sirius Black’s prison cell?” Bill murmurs.

“Because Peter Pettigrew is alive.” She looks up at Luke through water-y eyes. She wished she wasn’t on the verge of crying. But she was fourteen and young and it had been a very stressful day. “And I’ll testify o-or stand witness on Sirius’ defense.”

Luke crouches down and reaches out to uncurl her hand from the pendant. He studies the glowing rose and nods. In French he says, “We shine together.” She chokes on a half-sob, half-laugh. He hands her a handkerchief before looking past her head. In English, he says, “Sirius Black, what did your father tell you about your twice damned temper?”

“Fuck off, Nott,” Sirius barks back.

“Still making pretty girls cry over your sorry ass,” Luke answers. Then he stands up, pastes on a smile and turns to the Minister of Magic. “Hello Cornelius. Let’s discuss the illegal imprisonment of one Sirius Orion Black, Heir of the Black Family, twelve years ago. And while we do that, my associate, Callum Rosier, is down stairs having a chat with Madam Pomphry and, oh my, Harry Potter, about the complete lack of control and total endangerment to the entire student population you have engaged in this school year by bringing dementors, a class three beast only to be used on Azkaban or in the transportation of suspects between hearings and their cells, to a _fucking school_.” He looks at Snape. “Severus, what are you doing here?”

“I am-”

“Going away now. Before I shove my associate Callum off to young Mr. Longbottom. I hear you threatened his frog once. Don’t you think people like you have taken away enough of his beloved things?” Snape grinds his teeth but stalks out. Luke looks back at Fudge. “You can remove yourself as well. The monster and auror too. My client has a right to an attorney and privacy. Auror Abbott can stand guard outside the room, thank you.”

“The girl-” Hermione almost gasps when Bill sweeps her up and off the floor in a bridal carry.

“We’ll follow you out,” Bill insists, nodding towards the door. “Hermione needs some rest before talking to Luke.”

“Thank you,” she breathes to Luke as the other three troop out. 

His voice is low when he speaks to her, “You might need a magical guardian if you’re needed as a witness, Miss. Cal can’t be it since he’s co-counsel but Mor can or Bill. I’ll send someone around to your parents if you’ll write a letter.” She nods in understanding. “Thank you for helping Theo.” He gestures to Bill and the door slams shut on him saying, “Alright, Black, let’s see if I can get you out of trouble.”

Dumbeldore is outside the hospital wing with Madam Pomphry. The nurse gasps, “Weasley, what happened?” but Hermione is half asleep.

“She had a bit of a night, Poppy,” Bill answers. “But she held them off long enough for Luke to do his magic. I think some sleep and hot cocoa is all she needs.”

“Mr. Rosier kicked us out so that he could speak with her friends in privacy,” the nurse titters, running a spell over Hermione. It tickled but she tuts. “Chocolate and sleep, yes.”

The door to the Infirmary opens enough for Cal to pop his head open. Hermione almost laughs at the rats nest his curls are then tries to imagine what her’s looks like. He gestures for Bill to bring her in, glares suspiciously at Dumbledore and snaps the door closed again.

“Hermione Granger, you’re going to be the death of me,” he says after Bill has fussed over her with blankets and hot cocoa. 

“D-did you make it?” Harry asks her wide eyed. She smiles, drinks a sip of cocoa and hands it back to Bill. And that’s all she remembers.

The next day is questionings, by Luke, by Cal, by the auror and prosecutor. By Amelia Bones, head of the Department of Magical Law. With Harry and Ron and alone, but never _alone_ because Luke or Cal or their other associate, Mai Hitchens, was always with them during questioning. At some point, Molly Weasley arrives and gets into a shouting match with Luke for talking to Ron until Bill very bluntly says _he_ gave permission because Cal was his mate and ‘ _I work for the MAS, for Zabini, with Mor Nott. Gringotts just contracts us out, mum. Grandma Tia got me the job.’_ Molly looks like she was slapped.

And Remus shows up then, looking absolutely dead on his feet. Luke looks at him and declares, “Cal, get your credit cards ready and alert the girlfriend. Our adult witness needs adult clothes.”

“I’m not telling Etta about this until it's over,” Cal answers. “We’re easing her into the magic thing, remember? Let’s go slow with the werewolves and soul-sucking creatures and that serial killer bloke you saw on the telly was innocent.”

“Trust fund vault getting a little empty,” Mai comments knowingly. 

Then there’s a court date for the middle of June and everyone is on the train home. Mum and dad meet Hermione at King’s Cross and she lies about her year. She lies because she doesn’t want them to know about the werewolves and soul-sucking creatures and the serial killer bloke on the telly was innocent, I met him. If she’s needed at the Ministry, she’ll make it there on her own. Bill or Mor will collect her. She’ll-

===

She’s standing in Evan and Matt’s garden. The back one, touching the petals of the deep red roses. It's night, the stars are almost visible. Would be more if the lights of number 6 were off, like her own and their’s.

“Hermione?” Evan calls, worry lacing his voice. She can’t turn around. She doesn’t know how she got here. She doesn’t know- “Mione?” Evan is closer now, next to her. He touches her shoulder, skin on skin, and she shivers. Was she wearing clothes? Merlin she hoped so. And in front of her, his eyes glitter in the dark. “Hermione,” Evan says softly. “Can you understand me?”

A sob echos in the night. She realizes it's her and lets another one out. She leans into Evan’s chest, she still only came up to his armpits. She just cries and cries and cries. He just holds her tight and safe.

They don’t talk about it in the morning. When she wakes up in her own bed, with no recollection how she got there. She goes next door and Matt opens the door with pancakes and tea and “No, Evan got a call. He’ll be back the day after next, probably.”

He’s not.

Sirius’ court case comes about and no, she’s not needed on the stand. Mai walks her through pensieves and pulls silver memories from her temple.

Evan isn’t back then either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, ACAB, kids, never talk to a cop without a lawyer. lawyer=guilty is just Copraganda
> 
> Little note: the abbott family is one of the "Sacred 28". As are the Blacks, the Notts, Longbottoms, Malfoys and, of course, Rosiers. And _Weasleys_. Snape isn't. Therefore, the Abbott auror, whose family wasn't on the Dark Lord's side, totally would needle at Snape, a Death Eater. We are not Snape-fans here.
> 
> The Sirius/Morgana similarities and Abbott knowing about their running away had to have been gossip for ages. Charlie moved to the other side of Europe and Bill is never seen to be in England cause they have disagreeable friends and employers. Molly's mother, the Weasley's Grandmother, is Lucretia Prewett nee Black, Orion Black's sister. Next chapter will expand on why exactly Molly is surprised Bill got his job through his grandmother. its the DRAMA. 
> 
> Hope you guys liked this installment. I received a tiny bit of validation and decided to keep posting. I am 100% at work, on my work computer, so any mistakes were because I'm being sneaky.


	3. Remember the Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hermione attends the World Cup, the kids learn some decades old society gossip and Death Eaters are the worst.  
> Some people should not be professors and certain schools need to be sued for extreme child endangerment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're picking up at the World Cup and go all the way to the end of Year 4.
> 
> Once again, child abuse is touched upon and some people have ~PTSD~ cause they did their waiting, 12 years of it, in Azkaban!

The trial goes right through July, then it's Harry’s birthday and Hermione is at the Burrow. It's awful. Charlie and Bill are being iced out; Percy is seething over not getting a position in the Ministry; the twins are being obnoxious; Ron and Ginny are both annoying. Every day, she almost demands Charlie to bring her to Mor’s or Cal’s or her cousin’s or _home_. But she can’t leave Harry. He’s a nervous wreck. Next summer he might go to a loving home instead of his aunt’s house. But the trial drags _on and on._

Then they’re in the Minister’s box at the World Cup. For the first time since May, she feels like she can breathe when she sees caramel highlighted brown hair and tawny skin and a gorgeous white dress with pink roses outlined in gold thread. And next to that, brown curls, an angel's face and a pink waistcoat over a white shirt.

Lisette Lebrun and Callum Rosier looked like saints in the sea of dark and sinister robes. Everyone in the box around them wore their Ministry's best, their government approved uniforms. The Weasleys were the lurid outsiders in the Ireland national colors and those two were blessed priests descending from Heavens.

And suddenly, Hermione understood why Charlie had pressed the black dress with the roses into her hands back at the tents. Why he sat her down to tame her hair into half braids on her scalp into flowing curls. Made sure the Rosier pendant was displayed on her chest.

It was a statement. 

Callum Rosier had brought his muggle girlfriend to the biggest event of the year (perhaps the next four) dressed in Rosier colors and symbolism. He had sat her next to his cousin once removed, who was dressed soberly next to her son and her Death Eater husband besides that. Then the Weasleys arrived with the Boy-Who-Lived and his muggle best friend, she herself dresses in Rosier colors and symbols. For half a moment, she's pissed Cal is playing these games with her, with _her cousin's safety_. Didn't they talk about parents and children and status symbols?

Then she notices Draco is staring at her dress, her chest (hopefully the pendant), at _her_. His face is blank but something in his grey eyes (like his mother's, like Sirius', The Black eyes) reminds her of the other bit. Loneliness and jealousy and ' _what he did to quell my rebellious nature'_ and ' _she showed up, bloody and screaming'._ Being strong, Cléa Lebrun survived and so would Hermione Granger.

Etta turns away from her chat with Cal and the witch behind them. Her polite smile blossoms into a blinding grin seeing Hermione.

"Hermione!" she cheers holding out her arms. Hermione goes to her and leans over the chairs for the hug.

"Oh my gosh, Etta!" she says, legitimately happy for the first time since May. "What are you doing here?"

"I have come to see the game, of course," Etta answers as they both let go. Hermione smiles at her as she beams. "I have read Cal's entire rule book and the girls have shown me many records of past games, but I have no idea what's going on."

"Why'd you come then?" she laughs. 

"Gah, Cal agreed to let me bring the girls to the Football World Cup next week. They are here too but they are sitting with Brax and Adam and their teenagers. I think there will be a coup and they will also be going to see the Footie with us." Somewhere, Arthur chokes and starts coughing. 

"Um, er, Hermione, who is your friend?" Arthur asks, a little strangled. Hermione meets Cal's blue eyes. He gives her that smile of secrets. She turns and pastes on a smile of her own.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Weasley, let me introduce you," she says, polite and innocent. She wishes Molly with her cold shoulder to Bill and Charlie were here. "This is Lisette Lebrun, my cousin, and her boyfriend of two years, Callum." Someone up the stand makes a hurump noise, insulted on Cal's behalf, of being the lesser. She wants to see the Malfoys' faces but she focuses on Arthur. He looks gobsmacked. "Etta, Cal, this Arthur Weasley and his kids. You know Bill and Charlie, right? This one is Percy, he's brilliant and very into law. Percy, you should talk to Cal about the law firm he works at, Nott Attorneys. They're the ones doing the class action lawsuit against the Ministry.

"And this is Fred and George. They're pranksters but their potions are brilliant and the charm work, perfect. This is Ginny, who's going to be a brilliant Quidditch player. And of course, my best mates, Ron and Harry. Guys, this is Etta."

"Oh, I've heard all about you two," Etta coos.

"Er, you have?" a blushing Ron asks even as Harry, shaking her hand says, "Nice to meet you, Etta. You're the one she visited last summer?" Because Harry was better at rolling with it.

"Yes, though she kept running off with Cal's sister and little cousin."

"Um, Mione," Ron says looking a little lost. "I thought you were a muggleborn."

"I am," Hermione answers simply.

"But, um-" He shoots looks at the Malfoys, then at Cal. "Etta is, ah-"

"For Merlin's sake, Weasley, she's a muggle," Draco snaps. "Callum Rosier is dating a muggle." The Ministry officials around them all shift a little uncomfortably. Then, he leans forward a little to look at Etta. "I apologize for the bluntness, Miss Lebrun."

"It is what I am," Etta says patiently. "And call me Etta. Brax does so you should too." Lucius is staring _hard_ at the pitch.

"Who is Brax?" Harry asks, looking between Draco and Etta.

"Oh, one of Etta's clients. She's been auditing his financials since, oh November, wasn't it?" Cal asks easily.

"Oh yes," she agrees. "Cal brought me to Samhain to introduce me to some of his grandfather's friends. Brax and Adam were bickering over some missing money in the Magical Arcane Sector's accounts and I offered to look them over. Turns out one of the accountants was paying a fake employee. He asked me to look over his family accounts. There's so many of them that it's taken so long but I keep finding charges to extant businesses and dead people."

"He's been rubbing it in Archie's face since you started," Cal praises kissing her knuckles. "So expect Adam and Archie to slam down contracts when you're done his accounts. Granddad has been trying to convince me to ask you too."

"Oh, is your trust fund looking a little empty these days?" Charlie teases from his seat on Harry's other side. It puts him right in front of Draco. 

"Not enough I couldn't buy one of your dragons as a pet," Cal draws back. 

"Obviously. Etta's dress looks like a million gallons," Bill says then winks at her. "Course, she's gorgeous in anything."

Etta laughs and smooths the skirt. "Isn't it pretty? Non, Cal didn't buy this. I bought it myself. One of my mother's friends is the designer. I saw it and simply had to have it. It reminded me so much of your dress," she says to Hermione.

"That one I did buy," Cal says smiling at her. Narcissa stiffens and sweeps her grey eyes over Hermione.

"It's very… pretty, Callum," Narcissa says. "Did you pick it, Miss Granger or did one of the girls? Cal never had a fashionable eye."

"Cousin, please," he says mock hurt. "I get by."

Hermione wants to lie here. She wants to see the micro-expressions on the Malfoys' faces and the officials beyond them if she claims that yes, a Rosier had picked out a dress in their family colors. But she can't. She remembers that Narcissa was raised to marry someone like Lucius Malfoy, that she lost two of her cousins to Death Eaters and still stayed with her husband.

She pastes on a smile that's almost not sympathetic. "No, Mrs. Malfoy. I didn't meet Fiona and Elian until two days later in Dijon when Cal used the gateway to the Marché des miracles to see if I was a witch. I picked out the dress myself. It reminds me of my neighbor-" she almost says the name. She suspects but she's not sure and if she's wrong, bringing up Evan in association with roses would be mean. "And his roses, he grows pink, white and yellow. They win awards every year." She adds, "He's the one who taught me to love reading." _And break your son's nose back in May._

Narcissa turns her gaze on Cal. He gives her a perfectly blank look. "What? Rosiers don't own the rose motif."

"You brought them to Dijon?" she asks carefully. He smirks.

"No, they took the tram to Dijon. It was a family vacation to see the Florissimo. It was planned without me by Etta's and Hermione's mothers. The girls and I just met them there. I used the Owl to test if she was a witch or not. Muggles make wishes on that statue. It is a tourist spot." She gives him that cold look. "Narcissa, you will have to use your words. I think the Ministry Officials around us would not like it very much if I have to put my lawyer jacket on to decode your glares."

"Did Corin hold Samhain in Dijon, Callum?" she asks.

"No. Adam hosted last year. We're hosting this year. Draco and you are, as always, welcome to join," he answers easily. Draco looks sort of surprised, like it's the first he's hearing about any kind of invitation from his mother's maternal family. 

"We attend the Parkinsons’ soiree on Brechiek," Lucius answers coldly. 

Cal gives him a wicked smile down the line. “Of course, Lucius. I’m sure seeing the old posse is very comforting on Halloween.” Someone takes a sharp breath, possibly Arthur, while Charlie and Bill choke. “However, I was inviting Narcissa and Draco to Samhain. You know, the holiday any _proper_ wizard or witch uses to connect with their family and to ruminate on those we have lost beyond the Veil. I understand why you might be confused about that though since you haven’t lost anyone in common with your wife.”

“What box is your grandfather in?” Lucius asks standing.

“The family box is 713,” Callum says. Mr. Malfoy walks off with the Rosier heir rolling his eyes after him. “Unbelievable.”

“Yes, your behavior is,” Narcissa says stiffly. 

“Oh, come on, _Auntie_ Cissa,” he says. “He went off to tattle on me to granddad because he couldn’t lose his cool in front of all the people he’s paying off. Good luck with that though.”

“You gave him the wrong box number?” she asks tightly.

“You would think such a grand Slytherin like Lucius Malfoy would’ve realized I never said which box Corin Rosier is. Just the one our family bought for all our friends to attend,” he says and ruffles his hair. It messes up his curls, too attractively. “I’m sure Brax and Archie will _love_ him barging in in a huff.” He gives his cousin a stunning smile. “Archie came back to England to give Sirius his _full_ support, you know? Tia came with him and everything.”

Somehow, Narcissa stiffens even more. "I see. And how has that gone?"

"Oh, it's been two weeks, he's refused to see either of them, but I think he's touched they showed up." She snorts. "Tia is meeting her daughter for lunch this week so that's nice."

"Don't talk such foolishness, Callum."

"Is that Bill and Charlie's mom?" Etta asks curiously. But Hermione recognizes the tone of a woman leading someone along. Etta totally knows Tia is meeting Molly. Callum confirms. "Oh! Yes, Molly. Lady Tia asked me along to that tea. She wanted to bring Mor but Mor is off to work after the match. She suggested me so I could see a proper tea service."

"She did?" Cal asks surprised. "Are you going?"

"Of course. Brax and I have an appointment right after with Mr. Swingstaff right down the Alley," Hermione's cousin says.

"Lucius hasn't mentioned a meeting with Gringotts," Narcissa says, eyebrows twitching inward. Etta turns an almost embarrassed smile on her.

"Oh, it's nothing so important to bother Mr. Malfoy from his busy schedule. I'll be starting on the British accounts at the start of September and Brax wanted to introduce me to the Malfoy Account manager at the UK Branch before I do. I have some questions about tax laws and charitable donations to ask. It will be very boring to non-accountants."

"May I ask how you became interested in accountancy?" the lady asks. "It's not a traditionally female career move among magical families. Is it a muggle one?"

"It is more a male career but there's a fair number of women getting into it. Most looking to start their own business," Etta explains. "For me personally, I've always had a head for numbers. My father is in finance as well. He would set me down to practice balancing copies of his work sheets. It just made sense for me to continue schooling for that after secondary." She gives a little laugh. "I never imagined having to balance books for a Lord, never mind working with goblins at that."

"Well, you must be quite good. Abraxas hasn't allowed anyone since Mr. Victor Greeley passed to go through the accounts," Narcissa comments. "Lucius has offered to take on some of the work. He worries after that bout of Dragon Pox his father had."

"Oh, Brax told me that he likes to keep an eye on things. It keeps his mind young and sharp." Etta gives her a smile and leans a little to address Draco. "He did mention wanting to start teaching you when you turn 18, Draco."

"Oh, the worst," Cal cut in. "Looking through the books is mind numbing. What a perk of behind the only male heir."

"Says the man who hasn't done his own accounting since his girlfriend got ahold of his checkbook," Charlie teases.

"Says the man who's going to get his siblings some wicked presents for Christmas since he left his paycheck at our apartment and my girlfriend invested it into muggle stocks." Cal looks down at the Weasleys and points. "If you don't all get Firebolts for Yule this year, you tell Hermione to write her cousin. That is an insult to Etta's hard work."

"Woah, woah, Charlie can't get them all brooms," Bill protests. "I've already called that. He's got to pick something else."

"I did pick something else. I'm bringing mum and dad to Romania for a week then shipping them off to visit you in Italy." Charlie pouts at Etta. "I would never insult your hard work like that, Etta-babe."

She laughs. "I'm bringing my parents and Mione's to Tuscany this year with our grandmother. And hardly any hard work was involved. I just made you two open muggle bank accounts and put you in touch with my papa's trader. Tech and IBM is blowing up right now so a few hundred euro into those and it'll blow up to hundreds thousands. Then I set up the automatic transfer to Gringotts."

"Etta, sunshine, marry me?" Bill offers. Cal mock gasps and throws an arm around her shoulder.

"Back off, Weasley. I saw her first!"

"If that's how we're playing it, then I'll finally give into my heart's truest desires," Etta says putting a hand over her chest. She sighs looking off into the distant stands. "Morgana Nott, the love of my life."

"Boo," all three men jokingly say.

"Come on, dearest one, we talked about this," Cal says. "If you're going to leave me for one of my witch friends, make it Dora. Then you'll get in on the Black Fortune after Sirius reinstates her mum into the family. You'll have to wait for Mor's dad to kick it and hope Theo'll reinstate her if you want to touch the Nott money."

"And our vaults aren't as impressive," Theo Nott says sitting in Lucius' vacant seat. Draco looks at him surprised. "Hey, Draco."

"What are you doing here?" Draco questions. "I thought you have seats with Pansy, Crabbe and Flint."

"Father and I were on our way to our seats, but he stopped to speak with Goyle's father. Blaise ran past on his way to fetch Lord Rosier from the French box. He said your father was in their box and he's chatting with the Lords Malfoy and Zabini but Lord Black is also there. Father was on his way but then Blaise mentioned Uncle Lucas and Morgana were both there, so he sent me to come sit with you and your mother," Theo explains. He leans forward to smile at said mother. "Good evening, Mrs. Malfoy. Hi, Callum."

"Hey, Theo. This is my girlfriend, Etta. Etta, this is Mor's little brother." Both say polite hellos. "Blaise mention anything about my sisters?"

"Oh, yeah, they were going to sit with some of the Beauxbatons girls and Draco's Delacour cousins. Fiona was fetching Auror Tonks." Charlie groans, dropping head back.

"Caaal, look what you did," the dragon-keeper complains. "Now I gotta go make sure our friends don't commit murder."

"Hey, I created the problem, I don't fix the problems," Cal says cheerfully. "It'll be fine. Dora is a fully trained Auror and Mor is almost one with vast experience in curse breaking. They'll just punch it out. Metaphorically."

"Blaise said Mr. Malfoy's opening was 'a filthy muggle is your damn accountant' and Mor's answering volley 'Say what, mate?," Theo provides. 

"Oh. Yeah, no, that's probably not great," the lawyer agrees.

"Shit, that's the same thing she said before she swung at Orzo," Bill says hopping up. He's out of the viewing platform before anyone can say anything. Charlie sighs again and leans back to look at Cal.

"Sometimes I imagine that I didn't grind Aiden Lynch's face into the field pulling a Wronski Feint and decide to go beg food off the Elves in the kitchens only to be waylaid by a Hufflepuff comforting a crying Slytherin. I feel like life would be so much easier."

"Sometimes I imagine I don't have to be involved in the society that assigns and segregates 11-year-old by arbitrary personality traits where the children then internalize their assigned traits. This leading them to discriminate and demonize 'unattractive' traits which then isolates those children who display them. And, because most traits learned by age 11 are those displayed by family, this isolates them to equally likeminded groups, which paired with the demonization, leads to create radicalization while they aren't mixing with other socio-economic groupings and unable to form their own morals and opinions. They then grow up and have children, teaching them the same traits, continuing the radicalism and making it extremely difficult to cease the cycles of certain opinions in new generations."

"You're such a Slytherin," Charlie says then pushes himself up. 

"Fuck you, I'm a Ravenclaw." But Charlie is already disappearing down the stairs. Percy immediately leaps on the entire little speech.

Meanwhile, Harry and Ron lean over to Hermione and Ron asks, lowly, "What do you think he meant by all that?"

"Oh really, Ron. It's the same thing the Hat says," Hermione sighs.

"Yeah but I don't listen to that either," Ron points out.

"He means, that the House system is outdated and dumb," Theo says leaning forward on his elbows. "That Slytherins aren't ‘evil’ because they're Slytherins but because they're unable to create their own ideas outside of the ones their parents press upon them. We're bullied by other houses so we become mean and cruel in defense then are called the bullies."

Ron gapes at him but Harry is nodding vaguely. Hermione just frowns at him, worriedly. "Should you be talking to us?"

He looks back blankly with Mor's purple eyes before giving her a wane smile. "Oh, father is taking a business trip to America so I'm staying with Draco for the rest of the summer anyways. His father will be busy scrambling to hide all his 'donations' before Abraxas descends upon the Manor with Miss Lebrun and Uncle Luke."

"Why are you talking to us?" Ron asks suspiciously.

"Because my father is taking a trip to America and I'm staying with Draco for the rest of the summer," he paraphrases. "Our siblings work together, Weasley. Bill and Mor are partners at the MAS and Charlie is her best friend." He glances to the side where Percy is talking to Cal and Etta. "Percy is probably going to end up working at my uncle's law firm. I'd like to be at least cordial when I leave home in three years."

"Why are you leaving home?" Harry asks him, frowning. "You have money."

"That's controlled by my Death Eater father who disowned my uncle that turned in as many of his associates as possible and my sister that he abused," Theo answers. "If I leave at 17, he can't disown me and the majority of the Vaults are transferred into my name automatically."

"Can't he disown you afterwards?" Hermione asks.

"From himself, yes, but not the Family," he explains. "I'm the Lord Heir, as dictated by my grandfather and father only runs the accounts while I'm underage. If I'm disowned before I'm of age, I'll lose everything and it reverts to him. That's why most families will drive out their Heirs before 17 if they're 'unruly'. Andromeda Black was set to inherit the minor line accounts via her grandfather when she turned 17 but someone told her parents that she was engaged to marry a muggleborn and planned to break off their engagement contract with Antonin Dolohov. The heiress ship fell to Bellatrix Lestrange but she went to jail for Death Eatering. It reverts to the Black Heir since Narcissa can't inherit as a Malfoy."

"So Sirius inherits?" Harry asks curiously.

"Technically, at this moment, Lucretia Prewett, his aunt, is the Heir. Sirius was disinherited at 16 when he ran away," Draco says also leaning forward. "For being a blood traitor. His brother became Heir at 15 and swore himself to the Dark Lord the next year, along with Callum's uncle, Evan. Grandfather told me that everyone knew Lord Rosier was going to skip his oldest sons and make Evan his Heir so his brothers pressured him into taking the Mark."

"And then he spied on the Death Eaters," Hermione finishes. Draco looks surprised she knows. "Mor told me last summer. His reports put a lot of them in Azkaban."

"Right," Theo agrees. "Anyways, with Evan out of the way, it'd've fallen to Cal's father or Cal himself, who according to the marriage contract, would have been raised by his mother, a Selwyn who also supported the Dark Lord. Same thing happened with my family. Luke was Heir, he was pressured into taking the Mark at 15 and the Dark Lord died so he turned everyone he possibly could in. Father disowned him and made me Heir. If I leave, he can just have another child."

"What about you?" Harry asks Draco bluntly.

His grey eyes narrow but he answers, "I am Heir. Grandfather is more involved in his sister's son’s and granddaughters’ lives than he has been in father and I. I suspect it has to do with Orion Black and Henry Potter dying and location closer to Corin Rosier and Adam Zabini, than any opinion on us personally. They live in France and Italy; we live in England."

"Potter?" Harry asks curiously. Both boys stare back at him, maybe a little. "You said Henry Potter? Is he related to me?" They both look like they're working through a hard problem in Arithmancy.

"I- you don't know?" Draco questions.

"I don't know anything about my parents besides what little I've picked up from Hagrid, Sirius and Remus," Harry says embarrassed. "I was raised by my aunt in the muggle world. They didn't tell me about it until my Letter came in." Draco looks like Hermione has punched him again. Theo, on the other hand, looks Harry over again and understanding fills his expression.

"Your grandfather, Charlus Henry Potter, and your grandmother was Dorea Black, distantly related to the mainline, which runs through Lord Arcturus, the late Orion, then Sirius and Regulus," Theo lists out. "You're third cousins with Millie through Dorea's mom and second cousins with the three Black sisters, so that makes Draco your second cousin once removed. You're also related to the Longbottoms, Weasleys and Crouchs through the Black side, third or fourth cousins. Henry's grandmother was a Nott but your great-grandmother is a Naja, a very, very old and respected family from India. Her name is Chandra. Last I knew, she was still alive, in India."

"She is," Blaise says slumping into the seat next to Harry. "But don't get your hopes up. She's old and last time I visited with Nonno, she kept calling me Adam and hissing at the nurse trying to give her, her potions."

"Oh, okay. I- wait, hissing?" Harry questions. Theo smirks.

"Naja is a type of cobra, Potter. She's where you get the Parselmouth from," Nott says. 

"That's very reassuring," he says relieved. "You have no idea." He looks at Draco. "So our grandfathers were friends?"

"Mine too," Blaise calls. "And your grandfather plus the half-blood they shared a dorm with. Can't remember his name. Him and Orion were lovers until Orion married."

"Thomas," Narcissa comments. They all look at her. She looks a little regretful that she opened her mouth but communities. "My Uncle's former lover was named Thomas. He went to work for Abraxas' father in counter-intelligence right out of school against Grindelwald's forces. After the war, the two of them, Abraxas and Henry went to hunt down supporters of both Grindelwald and the muggles, the Nazis, in South America."

"Thomas," Harry echoes sharing a look with Hermione. Oh good, he caught the thought as well. 

"Wizards helped against the Nazis?" Hermione asks innocently. 

"Yes. Lucius's aunt, Arete, dropped out of her last year to help the Resistance in France. Their oldest brother worked Intelligence under their father and was killed by Grindelwald," she answers simply. 

"That's so interesting," Hermione says catching Etta's eye. "Etta's and mine grandmother also worked in the Resistance. Paris, specifically, and did a few years hunting Nazis afterwards in South America."

"I wonder if Brax and the others were the posh British boys she had to work with," Etta muses.

"Oh fuck, I hope not," Cal says catching onto the conversation. "I do not need Brax and your grandmother ganging up on me about rings and babies."

"Hm, maybe she's the muggle Abraxas threatened to marry if his father forced him home," Narcissa muses. Draco whips his head around to look at his mother. "Close your mouth, son. Your grandfather was- is very willful and liberal minded. He was very close to my Uncle Alphard but that's just gossip. No, at one point about a year into their assignment in South America, Lord Malfoy tried to withdraw Abraxas home to apprentice under him as the Head of the Ministry’s Intelligence. Orion arrived instead with an official declaration of intent from Abraxas to marry a French muggle girl if he was to come home. Orion got the apprenticeship instead." 

"Thank gods that Jane is black," Cal says, pressing a hand over his eyes. "Oh gods, the little troublemaker Hermione would have been."

"Are we talking about the same girl who threw herself between the Minister of Magic and a potential spree murderer on said murderer's behalf?" Blaise asks. "Would have been? Didn't she set off an entire legal battle for you and Luke?"

"Yes but imagine if Abraxas was her grandfather, just genetically, not even raised, she could have started so much younger."

"Oh yeah, like when she lit Snape on fire in first year," Ron blurts out loud and cheerily. Cal’s head shoots up even while Hermione turns a death glare on her friend.

“Ron, _shut up_ ,” she hisses. It must be venomous enough because he literally jerks away from her. Then she looks at the three adults with a sheepish smile. “It's not what it sounds like.”

“Of course,” Narcissa comments promptly. “Severus has complained often about the incomitance of first years and open flames.”

“That didn’t happen during class,” Draco says suspiciously. “Longbottom might have achieved that but not Granger. She was fairly good at potions. I’d remember if Snape was lit on fire.”

“She’s literally trounced all of our grades, every year, even with Snape’s bias grading,” Blaise points out. “She’s very good at potions.” He gets a sour look from his friend.

“Oh,” Theo says vaguely. “It was during Potter’s first Quidditch match. When his broom was out of control.”

“Still not what it sounds like,” Hermione insists. Cal gives her a look. Etta looks thoughtful. “Okay, if such a thing happened, it was only because he was acting suspicious and muttering under his breath like he was casting a prolonged curse. It was actually Professor Quirrell but Snape hates Harry so it wasn’t that big of a leap in logic. If I did such a thing.” She gives Etta a pleading look. “Please don’t tell my mum I lit my teacher on fire.”

Etta blinks a few times and tilts her head like Hermione is a particularly interesting picture. “Hermione, dear, do you remember when I came with Meme to visit when we were younger? I think you were about seven and I was 14.”

“Oh, uh, yes,” she says, confused about the question. She did remember that. Etta had been so pretty even back then, and Hermione wanted to be just like her. Also, Evan had been away for most of that week they had been there and having someone to play with after school instead of sitting alone at home or in her parents’ office was boring. And Etta had played with her, anything she wanted. “It was a lot of fun. One of the only times we got to hang out.”

“Yes, it was a lot of fun and you were very excited,” Etta claims. “Because the nasty boy at school was suspended for the entire week after he’d cut off some of your hair.” Hermione blinks. She didn’t remember those events being at the same time. “You were upset about your hair but I thought it was a cute haircut you ended up with. Anyways, that weekend, your hot neighbor got back from his work trip. You know the one. The nerdy one.”

“Er, Matt?” she hedges.

“No, the other one. Matt’s the cute one.”

Hermione sighs. “Evan? You know he’s like in his mid-thirties and isn’t that attractive.”

“Well, he was when I was 14 and he was in his mid-twenties. Anyways, you insisted on dragging me over to help him with weeding his garden and chattered at him all about the mean boy because he complimented your hair. Then at one point, you went back to the house to use the restroom and he asked why my face kept squinting like I was annoyed.”

“Oh, was I annoying you?” she asks. “I know I can talk a lot.”

Her cousin waves her off. “No and I don’t think he was annoyed either. I told him what my problem was but then you came back and were upset that the boy was coming back to school the next day. Evan told you that he bothered you again; you should fight back. He used to deal with his friends’ bullies all the time and that if it looked like something was going to go terribly wrong or they’d get caught for fighting, he’d start a fire or they would.” Hermione blinks. She does _not_ remember Evan ever mentioning this but she had been 7. “Anyways, that always really resonated with me, especially that week and the week I was back in Paris.”

“Oh, well yeah, Evan can give some good advice. Like, erm, I ended up punching Lanon in the face when he bugged me after that.”

Etta finally smiles. “Yes. I already knew that portion of his advice. It's why I was in England with Meme instead of home, at school. I had fought with another girl and we were both suspended but mama had a fashion show in Milan and papa was attending a conference in Geneva.” She waves dismissively. “Anyways, when we got back to school, the girl was okay for a few days then she started calling me names and broke some of my things and then finally, she spilt her drink all over my new purse. So I lit her’s on fire.”

“What?” Hermione was blown away. “How?”

“Well, her purse, Coach mind you, her Versace jacket and her street clothes from her gym locket. I took them all, dumped them into a trashcan and lit it on fire.” She smiles a bit wider. “With the chemicals I stole from the chemistry lab. The explosion was very large. I lost hearing for a good twenty minutes.” And Hermione realizes, _oh shit, my cousin would be a Gryffindor_ and also, _oh shit, my cousin also internalized our grandmother’s survivor ability_ and finally-

“Cal, you can’t _ever_ let her meet my father,” Theo states. _My cousin would throw down with a Death Eater,_ Hermione agrees. “You let her talk to Mr. Malfoy?”

“He was very polite,” Etta answers cheerfully. Narcissa is looking at her now like she’s impressed. “Tonks owe Morgana fifty gallons. She’d thought he’d last fifteen minutes, but he really managed thirty five. I think Corin won the overall pool.” Cal slaps a hand over his eyes again.

“They made a bet on how long it’d take Lucius Malfoy to lose his temper?” he groans. “Merlin’s hat, Etta, where did you even learn how to do this? This is like grade-A pureblood manipulations. I know Brax isn’t teaching you this over a few hours. It takes years.”

“Rich people are all the same, darling,” she answers patting his knee. “You’re all egotistical and prideful and forget even when you’re not trying to be, that you still are. Just because you all have magic doesn’t mean you don’t act like the bankers and politicians papa works with or the celebrities and models mum works with.” She gives him a grin. “I got very good at it by working in the shop.”

“Marry her,” Blaise calls.

“Shut up,” Cal says but doesn’t look away a little starstruck. “I’m definitely marrying her. Look, we could take Hermione, grab Mor and be in Vegas and back in two hours, married and all.”

Etta laughs and pats his face. “You’re cute but I’d like to not be a widow by twenty-four if it's all the same to you. I don’t know if Meme or Corin would kill you faster.”

“Oh, Cléa for sure. She already hates me. At least granddad and his friends like you.”

“She just thinks you're a little slow, sweetie.”

“Are they always like this?” Theo whispers to the group.

“I think it's nice,” Hermione says with a little smile.

“She’s biased,” Blaise disagrees. “It's sickening after the first three weeks.”

There’s a bit of commotion by the stairs then the Minister arrives with a second man who looks totally amused by everything and a group of mild-aged ministry looking people. Fudge starts to introduce people but the second man veers off.

“Ah! Callum Rosier and Mizz Etta,” he says with a very heavy accent grinning at the two of them. Both greet him back and he launches into a conversation with Callum in Bulgarian. Beside him, Fudge looks totally lost and flustered. 

“Bulgarian Minister Oblansk,” Fudge explains to the rest of them. “Doesn’t speak a lick of English.”

“And this is my cousin, Hermione Granger and her friends, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley,” Etta announces suddenly. “They go to Hogwarts.” Oblansk turns his attention from the couple to the indicated trio. His eyes move from Ron to Harry’s scar and lands on Hermione.

“Ah, yes! Hermione Granger, yes?” he asks and sticks out a hand to her.

“Um, er yes?” she says startled. He pumps her hand enthusiastically. Distantly, she hears Fudge exclaim, ‘You know English? I’ve been miming all day.’

“Should have known, should have known! You are related to Etta.” He smiles at Etta. “A witch in the family. Your relatives must be very proud of her.”

“Oh we certainly are, Mr. Oblansk,” Etta effused. “Both for the magic and for the favor she did for Lord Black this past spring.”

“Yes, yes, Archie has spoken at length of his grandson’s imprisonment,” Oblansk says and gives Hermione a big grin. “A Favor from the Blacks, lucky girl. Me, I owe a favor. Several! They donated much to our country to rebuild after Grindelwald.”

“Oh, erm, I didn’t do it for the Blacks,” Hermione says. “Sirius is innocent and they were going to give him the Kiss for no reason. It was the right thing to do.” Okay, so she also partially did it for Harry. She didn’t want to see the light go out in her friend’s eyes. Beside Oblansk, Fudge is glaring at her. That pisses her right the hell off so she pastes on her best Slytherin smile and adds, “It's really terrible you know? Sirius didn’t even get a trial before they tossed him to the Dementors. I don’t see how that’s anyway to run a civilized justice system.”

“Yes, yes, you are a very smart girl indeed. We need more of you about the place. When you graduate, where do you plan to work?”

She blinks. “Oh, um, I’m not sure yet. There’s so many options. I might go into law but then there’s also potions. And-”

“She’s on my grandfather’s watch list,” Blaise comments, almost brags. “For the MAS.”

“Ah, yes, the MAS,” Oblansk agrees sagely. “I suggest that, Miss Granger. Adam Zabini and Abraxas Malfoy pay very good to their employees there. Lots of research comes out of MAS.” An aide leans forward and whispers something in Bulgarian. “Oh, game is about to start.” He grins at them all. “Cheer for our Viktor. Rosier, who’s keeping books?”

“Ah, that’d be me,” Cal says. 

“Good, good, didn’t want to track down the old bastards. Put 20 on Viktor.”

“Of course, Minister,” he says and the man heads off for his seats. Cal gives Fudge a smile. “You want to place a bet, Cornelius?” Fudge gives him a venomous glare and follows his happier counterpart.

“Should I expect more of that?” Hermione asks pained.

“You saved the Black Heir from the Kiss,” Cal says lowly, leaning towards her. “After tonight, you’ll be linked to my family and not just as a client or witness. Most people won’t care, obviously, but people of a certain class or career will.” He gives her a half-apologetic look. “I did warn you to be careful about this.”

“Sort of,” she hisses back as the crowd starts to stir. “I should have just used the time-turner and helped Sirius escape.”

“Stop doing crimes,” he mutters. “And admitting to them. I’m going to have to start charging you.”

“I brewed Polyjuice potion in the second-floor girls’ bathroom with ingredients Harry and Ron stole from Snape’s personal stores to sneak into the Slytherin Common Room and interrogate Malfoy about the Slytherin Heir,” she says back. 

“Listen, Granger, I already adore you. You don’t have to keep trying to make me like you. You’ll fit right in with my family. Etta too apparently.”

“I punched Malfoy in the face too.”

“You’re Morgana reincarnated. It's amazing, she’s not even dead.” He winks at her and she grins back. Then the game starts.

===

Hours later, she’s standing in the woods staring up at the skull and snake in the sky. Her dress is ripped by branches and all she can think about is if Cal and Mor are okay. Not Etta, who is basically defenseless, but Etta’s friends, who grew up with that symbol on the arms of their tormentors. She wonders where Evan is tonight.

“Miss Granger?” a clipped elderly voice says behind her. She turns to find an old man in an expensive looking suit and a cane. He has grey eyes and silver hair. Her eyes go back up to the sky.

“Yes, that’s me,” she says but her voice isn’t recognizable to herself. She tries not to correlate Orion’s bow pointing at the Dark Mark to anything else she’s seen.

“My name is Arcturus Black,” he says.

“I know. You look like Sirius.” She grabs onto the Rosier Pendant. It pulses warm in her hand. “I’m sorry.”

He frowns. “For what? You have nothing to be sorry for. You’ve done me quite a service, in fact.”

“No, not for anything I’ve done,” she says looking at Arcturus Black. She blinks for a few seconds. “You-your son’s lover, what was his name?”

Arcturus looks her over, a few times. “I think you already know that, Miss Granger, and few others do.” She nods. “He loved that boy.”

“It has to be very difficult.” It’s a stupid thing to say but she feels that empty floating dread again. Etta and the game had dispersed it for a few hours, but it swamped her again. She sees Mrs. Malfoy marching through the woods behind him. She comes to a stop at the edge of the clearing. Hermione looks back up, finds Leo and its heart. “To love a monster.”

“It is,” he confirms, like maybe he knows. “But as I told him, love doesn’t always triumphant. Some people can’t change.”

“But some can.” Her eyes go back to the Dark Mark. “And others refuse to.” She finally shakes the feeling back down until she can think normally. She gives them a wry smile. “I’m sorry, I seem to have been a bit shook up. I need to find my friends. I have a feeling that Harry is in terrible mortal danger again.” She doesn’t wait for a response, just marches off towards where the Mark has been cast from. 

Harry Potter, after all, was going to be at the center of it.

===

This is proven true when his name flies out of the Goblet of Fire after Viktor Krum, Fleur Delacour (who she marks as Malfoy’s second cousin or is it first once removed?) and Cedric Diggory. 

Also, her _Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor_ has performed _Unforgivables_ in class. Including one _on the students_. 

The first she writes Luke and Cal about. Maybe they could find a loophole in the Tournament's contract.

The second, she doesn’t write anyone about. She consults Blaise on this decision.

“Moody is an auror,” Zabini says low over their Rune’s homework. They’re in the library, at a back table. Theo and Draco are at the other end of the 8-person table. Close enough that if they talk like regular normal people, the two can hear but it gives the appearance of two friends watching their third with the nasty Gryffindor. She doesn’t bring friends to study her two electives she shares with the Slytherins. She needs to _study_ after all. Anyways, Viktor Krum was two tables away and there were girls sighing all along the bookshelves so Ron would certainly be a bother. (Also, all the Slytherins have been avoiding her this year. Parkinson will throw the occasional _‘your hair, ugly; your face, terrible; you, mudblood’_ but it seems to be a habit more than a seeking out like before. This has not, please note, stopped Malfoy and his two bodyguards from harassing her when she’s with Harry.)

“Yes, exactly,” she agrees. “Should he be doing that?”

“He’s the one that killed Evan Rosier,” he murmurs. Hermione’s insides go watery and hateful and she wants to go hex their professor now. Light him on fire, two for two, right? “Please don’t make Cal face him.”

“Fine but I’m heavily protesting this,” she says tightly. “It's not right and there’s something off about him.”

“He’s an auror,” he repeats. “Now what did you get for number six? I got gibberish.” She also got gibberish. A call down the table reveals that Draco and Theo got the same thing. Then it's a race to be the first one to translate correctly and Moody’s insanity is tucked away.

She writes to Cal about House-Elves. He responds with _I will fight many a battle but Not That One._ She calls him a coward and he answers back with _Nice try, still no_ but adds several research papers, essays and the full written law on House-Elves. After a talk to Dobby, Winky and several other Elves that, eventually, allow her to approach, she can see why Callum ‘I’m fighting for werewolves, child welfare and Sirius Black at the moment’ Rosier, might not want to try that just yet. She gets a letter from Fiona (who tried very hard to be part of the visiting team from Beauxbatons but Corin has Refused) that Elain had read her letter to Cal and now all their House-Elves had A Wage and One Day off a Week. The Delacour/Malfoy Lord’s elves were Next according to Gabriella, followed, Fiona expected, the Zabini’s. The Blacks’ probably would not fall. It, with Dobby and Winky, was a Start.

Harry’s first interview is the first page for all of a day. The very next day, the second half of Rita Skeeter’s trash is put to page 4. The headline is on Sirius Black’s trial conclusion.

Innocent.

Cal and Remus come to Hogwarts for a talk with Harry. Harry looks absolutely crushed when they leave. 

“What did they say?” Hermione asks sitting on Harry’s bed in the dorm. Ron is still not talking to Harry.

“Sirius can’t take custody of me yet,” he says miserably. Hermione had guessed as much. She reaches out and folds him into a hug.

“Oh, Harry, it's not your fault or his,” she says as he turns into her arms. “Azkaban was very traumatic. I’m sure they just want to make sure he’s healthy and stable before giving him custody. He might accidently hurt you and imagine he’d feel retched if that happened.”

“But I might have to go to the Dursleys’ in the summer. They’re awful,” he says muffled into her shoulder.

She sighs. “I know. I’m sorry.” He doesn’t answer but accepts her hugs and Neville doesn’t comment when he comes into the dorm. He just gives her a knowing smile and closes himself up in his own bed. Two happy people wave at him from a picture on his bedside table. They’re the same age as the two dancing on Harry’s bedside table. It's still an age that other people didn’t make it to.

===

Dragons are the first task. 

Hermione yanks Blaise into a study session about How To Beat Dragons. This leads to him roping in Theo into the session two seats away from them. And Theo, feeling lonely and a bit (a lot) annoyed, harangues Draco into helping. As it turns out, two out of three of Draco's favorite things are involved (dragons and Harry Potter Antics, according to Blaise; Harry Suffering according to Draco; Harry Existing, mutters Theo). 

"What's your third favorite thing?" Hermione asks absently, flipping through a book of dragon species.

"Quidditch," all three boys says. She's kind enough not to point out that that is _also_ a Harry related Antic\Existing. 

"Ginny says Harry could go pro," she muses. "I don't care much for it but it seems like the only thing he enjoys. Too bad he'll die by Dragons."

They fall silent. She looks up after a while. Theo and Blaise are flipping through Charm and Creature books respectively. Draco is staring off into the void. Or rather the flying students near the pitch. 

"The Firebolt is the fastest broom ever created," he says zoned out. "Ebony handle, Ash twigs, iron fittings by goblins. Can turn on a pin at top speed." His eyes drift to her. "Might be able to outrun a class two or three dragon." Those are the very heavy and medium dragons, she knows. 

A letter to Charlie tells her nothing (besides that he's in Hogsmeade, thus part of the Tournament) but that she should write Abraxas Malfoy, who also loves dragons like his grandson and donates like crazy to the Reserve and visits at least twice a month. He knows all the trainers' names and also the dragons’. 

So she writes to Abraxas Malfoy. Mostly it's a _'hello, I'm Etta's cousin. I'm interested in the Dragon Reserve. Your grandson and Charlie Weasley said you were involved?'_ Lord Malfoy writes back _'delighted to hear from you, we must meet some time'_ and a summarized introduction to all 134 dragons that sort of reads like the classified 'looking for companion' in the newspapers. He finishes with _'my favorite Chinese Fireball has been rented out like a cheap date. Poor lass having to travel with a Swead, that brutish Green Welsh and filthy Horntail._ ' He then asks about her plans for House-Elves.

As long as Harry doesn't pull the Fireball, he should make it. (He does.)

Moody transfigures Draco into a ferret and bounces him about the courtyard until McGonagall intervenes. Draco is terrified as Theo ushers him away. Ron thinks it is the best thing in the world but a look into Harry's eyes shows Hermione's own anger and worry back at her. There's punching and there's setting things (it was Snape's robes, he just happened to be wearing them) on fire. This is Other. 

It's worse when Draco comes to the Arithmancy study, wane and distracted. When Theo slides Draco's paper to himself and starts doing the problems written there instead. Blaise is quiet. There is no declarations of 'my father…' or 'the school board won't stand for this…' or even 'fuck him.' No, Draco faced a man who had killed his mother's cousin. No threatening his father's wrath, because his father might be next.

She doesn't write Luke or Cal (or Mor or even Mai Nguyen, another associate of Nott Attorney); she writes Sirius. _You were an auror and I need you to be one for this_ she warns. _A professor transfigured a student who was teasing Harry into a ferret then proceeded to bounce him around. What should I do?_ Then, because Harry is still flustered at Cedric telling him to take a bath, she adds to him and Remus, _Also, how do I tell a bloke I support their interest in the fit upperclassmen bloke? My neighbors came pre-together._

Sirius' letter comes with a scribbled out laughing drawing. He writes that he'll put a word into Luke. Then he asks if it's Ron or Harry into the fit bloke, how much older, is he Fit or just sort of? Remus writes back _I kissed him. Do not recommend this method. James charmed balloons to say 'congrats on the queers'. Also not recommended. Peter didn't catch on for three months. Lily told me I could do better and threatened to shave Sirius' head._ Overall, not helpful advice.

Doubly not helpful when one day in the Common Room, Ron turns to her and says, "Mione, you're a Girl." For all of three distracted seconds, (she was researching, Ronald), her heart soars. Was Ron actually going to ask her out? But then it slams into the memory of Harry's face after meeting Luke and Remus and he hadn't been there for his best mate over stupid jealousy. 

Hermione slams shut the book. "I am a girl, in fact but I have a date, Ronald." She sweeps her stuff into her bag and storms off to the Library to plan.

Thankfully, the Slytherin trio are studying for the Charms test with Pansy Parkinson. There's no one else around besides a few Durmstrang boys so she feels comfortable enough to slam her bag down next to Theo, and sits down between him and Malfoy, dropping her head to the cool wood table. She muffles a scream into her wrist.

"Erm, Granger, we aren't your Gryffindors," Pansy points out but she doesn't sound as nasty about it as usual. She was probably surprised.

"Shut up, I'm using you as shields," Hermione says muffled by her arm and the table. "Just kill me if Ron shows up because I will kill him."

"You're too smart to go to Azkaban for that Weasel," Blaise says. She assumes he's the one giving her head two pats. "He finally ask you to the ball?"

She raises her head, pressing two of her fingers into her temples and says, "He actually said 'Mione, you're a girl.'" Theo chokes on a laugh. 

"He's trash," Pansy says in automatic girl mode. Girl mode, even when Hermione despises it, can always be relied on. All her roommates have their own version and know when she's had a row with one of the boys. They do their best to comfort her. She's seen other girls their ages go through the same change, all grouping up around the hurt member of their gender, despite house or family. "I do hope you didn't say yes."

"I didn't give him a chance to ask," she says scrubbing at the side of her face. "He's been abominable to Harry all year because of the stupid Triwizard bullshit. Like anyone sane _wants_ to fight a dragon. I told him I had a date. I don't even have a dress." She groans, dropping her head back into the table again. "Is anyone single?"

"Sorry, we've all got dates," Blaise says. "Dray and Pansy are going together and Theo's going with Millie."

"He's going with one of Fiona's friends," Theo adds. "What about Longbottom?"

"Going with girl Weasley," Pansy answers. "Only boys in our Year or Fifth that are free are Potter, Weasley, Crabbe, Goyle and Walter Toohey in Ravenclaw. Only girls are her, the Patils and Quinn."

"Not Crabbe or Goyle," Draco adds. "And Toohey is a scag like Weasley." Hermione wants to defend her friend but it's damn hard when Ron was such a… a scag. They all fall into thoughtful silence. It's nice.

"Hey, Krum," Blaise calls suddenly. Hermione turns her head to look at the group of Durmstrang students, with their Champion right in the middle. Protection, probably. The Seeker looks over and says a greeting in… Russian maybe? Blaise returns it before continuing in English, "Why are you always sneaking looks at Hermione and lingering around the library when she's studying?"

She watches fascinated as a little blush touches his face. He shoots a look at Lev Zagof (the Keeper for Bulgaria, not as popular for some reason) who is ducking behind his books with a grin. Several of the other boys look away too.

"She is very pretty and her intelligence is... impressive," he says. His classmates snicker while Hermione feels her own blush.

"Great!” Theo says. "So you're free to take her to the Yule Ball?" 

"Nott," Hermione hisses.

Krum looks confused but hopeful. "I was told she was going with the red head."

"He's a weasally little scag," Draco says disdainfully. "He's only just now realized she's a woman."

"Oh!" Krum says flustered. He smiles at Hermione. "I would be honored if you would attend the Yule Ball with me, Her-Mi-one." She stares back wide-eyed. "With no expectations. Friends."

"Y-yeah, that would be great!" she says more breathless than she really wants to be. "I would love to attend with you, Viktor."

"Perfect!" Pansy says, clapping her hands. "Now what are you wearing? So we can match her dress." Their dress uniforms, apparently, from the first night. "We can work with that. And this is all to be revealed at the ball so she can really wow her friends, understand?"

"I don't have a dress or money for a dress," Hermione hisses after everyone drifts back to their own work.

"It's fine, I have an idea about that too," Blaise says. "You have plans for Hogsmeade this weekend?"

===

His plans were apparently to drop her off at Gladrag's with Draco at 11 and disappear off to keep an eye. Malfoy opens the door to the high-end clothier for her, keeping an eye out for something. Pansy is already inside, sipping on bubble juice at one of the jewelry cases and next to her is-

"Fiona!" Hermione says happy and relieved to not be stuck with just two Slytherins.

Fiona greets her with a smile and a hug and, "Cal and Etta wanted to come too but they're stuck with grandfather doing something at the manor over here. Cleaning it out or something." 

"No, it's amazing that you're here," she insists. "You can help. I'm terrible at fashion." Her eyes catch on Draco and the older man he's talking to. The man is in crisp black robes with cropped and slicked back silvering blond hair. But he's in his seventies at least with a good posture and bulkier set to his shoulders that speaks of muscles.

"Oh, let me introduce you," Fiona says, pulling her over to them. Parkinson trails after them with Fi's drink. "Uncle Brax!"

He looks up from the serious conversation he seemed to be having with, best guess, his grandson. "Ah, young Miss Parkinson and who is this?" he asks. He sounds polite and nice enough.

"Hermione Granger, sir," she answers for herself. "I'm, er, a Hogwarts fourth year."

"Ah, the one young Miss Rosier dragged me here to see with promises of seeing my grandson," he says then winks at Fi. "I'm Abraxas Malfoy, Draco is my grandson. Lisette's cousin, yes?"

"Yes sir. Her dad, my mum," she agrees. "I heard she's working for you?"

"Making herself a credit to Cal's good taste at that," he agrees. "If you ever want to endear yourself to a bunch of old bastards with traditional backgrounds, make them or save them lots of money."

"Ah, well, I hope we didn't cause too much of a stir with your son at the World Cup. He seemed… upset." Enraged. Possibly enough to get the band back together and scare the muggle woman. Etta had been back at the apartment her and Cal were staying at, owned by Luke Nott, for when Cal was in the country. But Hermione had a feeling that she would have thrown down with the Death Eaters if she had a chance. 

"That boy will get upset if the elves don't press his jacket the right angle of seam." That boy being a 40 something year old father. "Spoiled brat. My wife sheltered him too much and look how he turned out."

"A wizard Nazi," she says thoughtlessly. Immediately she regrets it. "I-I mean, he was acquitted and-"

Brax laughs, apparently delighted. "Wizard Nazi, I like that." She still keeps her nervous look while Fi squeezes her hand comfortingly. "Miss, I know what he is, he knows what he is, the entire world knows and the portion that refuses to admit it, are being paid not to." He claps his hand once. "Now, I believe you and Miss Parkinson are here to look at dresses with Fi and I am here to have a chat with my grandson away from meddling parents and obnoxious Black Lords."

"Right, to the dressing room," Fi declares marching her off into the store. Pansy trails behind after some brief polite conversation. Once Hermione is in a lounge and the two girls are flipping through a selection of dresses, the Rosier speaks again. "Don't worry too much."

"I just called his son a Nazi," Hermione says. 

"He's called his son far worse," Pansy assures her. "Publicly, to the press, when the trials were happening."

"Oh but the family reputation?" Hermione hedges.

"Draco's father might be viewed kindly in the UK," Fi says. "But he's an embarrassment everywhere else. Grindelwald never touched the UK like the rest of Europe, but the Malfoys were heavily involved in the Resistance because of their connections in France. Everyone knows that Akakios, the Heir Malfoy, was killed by Grindelwald and that Arete, the daughter, aided resistances, both magical and muggle, even marrying a muggleborn. Less people know Abraxas’ role at that time, since he was underage for all but the last two years but he was at many trials of the supporters. And their father was the Head of Intelligence. So, with that reputation, the Malfoys were very well thought of, even if they’re not strictly ‘light’ bound. Abraxas and Arete still are trusted in the International community. As, you may have noticed, are the Blacks. Well, everyone thinks Archie is a bastard that should have had his daughter-in-law well in hand before it came to what it did, but the Blacks helped a lot in the war effort and rebuilding afterwards.” Fi pulls a blue dress and pushes Hermione towards the dressing room.

“So when Mr. Malfoy came out as a You-Know-Who supporter?” Hermione asks beyond the curtain.

“Abraxas denounced him,” Pansy answers. “Couldn’t disown him because of the marriage contract with the Black Family and Draco’s Heirship but my mother told me that he cut off Lucius from most of the family fortune. They’ve survived on what he received from his mother’s will, Narcissa’s dowry and Draco’s trust fund. He’s unable to access any family property besides the manor in Wiltshire.”

“Most of the communication between Brax and Lucius is through my grandfather these days,” Fi adds. “This year has probably been the most sustained contact the two of them have had in our lives. Certainly since Morgana left the Nott Family.” Hermione steps out in the blue dress. “Oh, that’s pretty.”

“But not very flattering. Washes out her face,” Pansy points out and thrusts her a purple dress. “How about this one?” Hermione sighs and goes back.

“What does Mor have anything to do about the Malfoys? Besides just normal purebloodness, that is,” she adds stripping.

“He’s her godfather,” the Slytherin answers. “Mr. Nott and Mr. Malfoy were friends. Well, for a given amount of friends. Not like Draco and Theo and Blaise are friends. Them and Monroe Rosier, Elian’s father, not Callum’s. But it was expected that Callum and Morgana would marry until Lord Rosier took his grandchildren to France. Then there were rumors that a marriage contract in the works between the Malfoys’ and the Notts, Draco to Morgana. It was never confirmed and likely Abraxas would have stepped in long before that anyways. Probably did.”

“It became moot anyways,” Fi says. “Mor went to Lucius to complain about her father’s abuse of herself. Like we never got the details, but I know some of the things that happened when Mor and Cal were kids. It was bad. I can imagine Mr. Nott only got worse over the years.”

“He didn’t help her?” Hermione asks. She couldn’t imagine going to someone and not getting help. Then she remembers what these people are and she remembers Harry’s skinny frame in first year and the hulking mass of his uncle.

“I suspect he did have some talks with Mr. Nott,” Pansy answers. “I know they aren’t friends like before and Draco’s father distanced himself from him after the trial. He actually spoke up for Mor during her emancipation. Sometimes he still has talks with him about Theo’s treatment.”

“He just doesn’t actually intervene,” Fi says. “And to Mor, that’s inaction. Inaction is the greatest crime to her and Cal.” Hermione stares at herself in the mirror and imagines. She wonders how long Cal had nightmares of his time as the child of Death Eaters. She tries to imagine what it would be like, living every day knowing mum and dad were going out to murder people and torture them, that all the people around you were hateful and cruel. And Mor had to keep living with her father. “Adam keeps her away from England as much as possible and Luke or Mai usually are the ones that deal with any of the old guard so Cal doesn’t have to. He’s… antagonistic.”

“And he’s dating my cousin,” Hermione adds, stepping out again. “I don’t think she’s going to hold your brother back on this one, Fi.”

The older girl hums but smiles. “No. Etta’s going to be right there next to him.” She ruffles her brown hair thoughtfully. “Granddad thinks that’s what Lucius is worried about. Etta is digging into the Malfoy accounts. That is going to eventually include Draco’s trust fund and the household account. Not Narcissa’s, those are Black held. But if Archie really contracts Etta to look into _his_ family accounts? A good accountant like your cousin is going to notice inaccuracies and payouts across the board. Now that Draco is older _and_ Sirius is Heir Black, Abraxas can pull custody from Lucius and disown him. I don't like this one."

"How about this?" Pansy says with a yellow thing. Hermione quickly denies that before even putting it one. She knew other girls with her skin tone looked good in yellow but she never did. Instead she's handed a red dress.

"Couldn't Narcissa leave her husband?" she asks. "With Draco?"

"Custody of Draco automatically reverts to the Malfoy Family, per marriage contract," Fiona answers. "Think of it like a prenup agreement. Lord Black could fight it on her behalf, of course, but if Brax steps in with the intention of taking custody, I doubt he will. There was a lot of… _drama_ involving Bellatrix marrying Rodolphus Lestrange and Lucius marrying Narcissa. I don't know what it was about."

"Nor do I," Pansy agrees. "I think the young Lestrange brother, Rabastan, was involved or their sister, Alice. Alice married Frank Longbottom, so I don't know how reliable that is." Both girls fall quiet. Pansy adds after a bit, sounding a little sickened. "Perhaps a lot. The Lestranges, and Barty Crouch Jr. went to Azkaban after torturing Alice and Frank into insanity. Longbottom is their son."

"Crouch?" Hermione asks exiting the changing room. Both girls send her back in with a white dress and a pink dress. "Like the Tournament judge? He was quite nasty to his house elf."

"He was the Head of Magical Law Enforcement and his son was a staunch supporter of the Death Eaters," Pansy explains. "Barty was named by another and arrested in the Wizengamot. Crouch denounced and disowned him extremely harshly. Even the Light side thought it was a bit much."

"He was Evan's friend," Fiona says a little distantly. "Cal said that he thought maybe Barty was an informant as well but Luke and Mor deny it. Barty was Bella's little pet project who'd follow her about where Evan, Rabastan and Regulus wouldn't. He died in Azkaban. His father probably hated that his house-elf was caught under the Dark Mark. The scrutiny. Worse, a good lawyer or victim family might get it in their head to bring up old cases. Every sentencing Crouch was involved in could be called into questioning. He sentenced Sirius after all. Who else was innocent or wasn't?" She hadn’t even thought of that. 

She exits in the white dress. They both make faces. “Are there other Death Eaters that people think shouldn’t be in Azkaban? Like Sirius’ case, not because they agree with You-Know-Who.”

“Not really,” Pansy says twirling some of her hair around two fingers. “There is Rabastan Lestrange himself. He was the same age as Rosier and Black but had only turned 18 not long before Black’s disappearance. Most assume that he was pressured into joining and didn’t do much.”

“He claimed to not have been at the Longbottom attack,” Fi says sounding a little far away. “And Luke said he was always very close to Alice, only being a year apart.”

“Was there no one to corroborate his alibi?”

“He refused to say where he was. He only said that he wasn’t there. Cal and Mor think he was at a lover’s; One that was inappropriate, be that muggleborn or married. The first would have been in terrible danger if named and the second would have been shamed for an affair.” She shrugs. “The other iffy one is Antonin Dolohov, charged for the murders of Gideon and Fabian Prewett. That’d be your Weasleys’ uncle.”

“Your brother is friends with Bill and Charlie,” she points out. 

Fi gives her a quick smile. “True but their mum acts like she was the only one who lost her brothers. Anyways, the reason why their grandmother isn’t involved more is because she, this being Lucretia Prewett nee Black, is irrefutably certain that Dolohov wasn’t involved. She gets drunk during hols and goes on about how he and Gideon were in love. Gideon and Fabian were aurors and part of Dumbledore’s vigilante group, as was Molly. Molly, on the other hand, thinks he did kill them.”

“Dolohov didn’t say anything during his trial,” Pansy adds as Hermione goes to change again. “He was caught before You-Know-Who’s defeat. He probably could have used that to put people away. Father said he just stayed quiet almost like he’d already been Kissed.”

Hermione thinks about Sirius and the dementor in the corner of that tower and the way her blood, her _bones_ had been frozen on that warm June night. She shivers in the warm changing booth, holding onto a pink feathery dress. “Had he been?”

“No. He would have been admitted to St. Mungo’s if he had been,” Fi says. “But maybe he’d been Imperio’d into doing it. Cal and Bill theorized that once and that the reaction at the trial had been him being catatonically shocked.”

“Bill? Ron’s brother?”

“He says they were lovers too. I think that’s why he moved away from his family as quick as possible. The intolerance to non-black/white thinking.” Hermione thinks about Molly’s face when she had arrived at the Burrow after the World Cup on Bill’s Side-Along. Muddy, scratched up, dress of Rosier colored roses ripped with a Rosier pendant on her chest. She could see why Bill and Charlie had left, that tightness in their mother’s face. She wondered how Molly Weasley’s lunch had gone with her mother and Etta.

She steps out of the changing room again. Both girls look impressed.

“Oh that’s decent,” Pansy says looking her up and down. “Brown will have something for your hair but that one will destroy Weasley.”

“You look so pretty,” Fiona gushes standing up. She walks around Hermione. “They’ll need to take up the hem a bit and in at the chest some but this one, I think. How does it feel?” Hermione looks at herself in the mirror.

“Sort of like a princess,” she admits. She sees Fiona smile behind her.

“Great, let's go find shoes.” She’s dragged out of the private room back into the main store. It's still empty besides the employee behind the counter and the Malfoy Lord looking at some pocket squares.

“Draco went off to see his friends,” Abraxas explains when Pansy asks. “I was just waiting for you three to emerge to let Fiona know I’m going to check on Sirius.”

“Of course, sir,” Fiona says as Pansy quickly disappears out of the shop.

“On Sirius?” Hermione asks frowning.

“Oh yes, he wanted to come visit James’ boy,” Brax says. “I offered to bring him along with Fiona.”

“Er, he’s an adult,” she says.

“And when he acts like one, I’m sure we can treat him like one,” he says amused. “I jest. His wand is still in Ministry lock up. He’s using one that he dug out of his parents’ house. Not the safest to use apparating. Anyways, I want to meet my grand-godson.” Seeing Hermione’s look, he gives her a smirk that makes him at once look like Draco and not at all. “Orion gave me the great honor of being his eldest son’s godfather. Something I’m sure he got hell for from that devil of a woman he was forced to marry. She didn’t like how close Rion and I were and _certainly_ didn’t like the affair I carried on with her younger brother. But Rion was my best friend and Al was what I considered to be my soulmate, if such things existed.”

Hermione opens her mouth, closes it and _thinks_ for a moment. “Sir, is it true Sirius’ father was… dating someone before his wife?” _Is it true you were friends with your son’s master?_

Brax looks her directly in the eye. He, like Lucius, has blue eyes. His are deeper than his son’s pale things but they certainly aren’t the grey Draco has. “He was also my best friend, Tom. Not that we weren’t awful little brats to him in first year for being a ‘mudblood’ and totally ignorant of our world But Adam and Henry got through our families’ teaching quick enough and yes, eventually Orion went head over heels for him.”

“What broke them up?” she asks. _What set off the monster? Was it Orion Black or was it always in him?_ He strokes at his chin.

“The marriage but it had been bad before that. Orion was taking on more and more responsibilities for the family and at work. Tom was… he was an orphan and he always wanted attention. Orion couldn’t always provide that and the rest of us had our own lives too. He went off East in a fit.” He looks off towards the window and then back. “He was our friend but do be careful with friends. I’m sure you’ve seen how things fall apart if one feels neglected.” Peter Pettigrew’s hateful little speech at Sirius and Remus jump to her mind. Yes, she could see how someone like that rat would be manipulated by someone like… Tom.

“Was… never mind,” she says, really not wanting to ask. “It was nice to meet you, Lord Malfoy. I’m sure I’ll see you when I go to find Harry myself.”

“You as well Miss Granger,” he says then gives Fiona a look. “You behave.” The older girl shrugs.

“He likes you,” Fiona declares after it's just them in the shop. “Why are you so interested in Orion Black’s beau?” She starts pulling shoes. “Heels?”

“Low ones or flats. Hogwarts is a lot of stairs,” Hermione answers. "I just think it's interesting. Maybe helpful for future endeavors, you know? Like are queer affairs okay to have?"

"Depends on the couple," Fi admits. "But most marriages are arranged. I assume Brax and Orion both were less than happy having to marry for heirs but that's what was expected. Brax's wife had her own lover, female too."

"If Cal had been-"

"If Cal had decided to pursue Charlie like Mor was trying to set them up when she introduced them again, I would assume granddad has something planned," she answers. "Be that a single night with a woman and a bunch of fertility potions or how muggles have come up with the artificial procedure. Technically, something could be worked out where mine or Elian's future son would carry the name. There are ways around it and there always has been, just like the fact there are no real pureblood families. Not the way the UK families claim to be. The last one, the Gaunts, died out near magicless and destitute, in the early century after marrying cousins to cousins to keep the blood pure."

"And your grandfather really doesn't mind Etta?" she asks. "Muggleborns are at least magical. My cousin isn't."

"If he does, it's very minutely," Fiona says thoughtfully. "I think he's just happy she's useful to the family instead of being a drain. Most incoming spouses come with nice dowries but don't _earn_ money. He also probably likes that you're a witch so there's possibly magic in her family background even if Jean and Cléa didn't have it."

"That's not very comforting."

"Granddad, and the others honestly, rides a very bumpy broom between what's best for family and what's best for The Family. He wants us to be happy but he also wants the Rosier name to mean something, to be powerful as it was before…" she trails off studying an ugly baby food green pump. _Before his sons_ is left unsaid. "Cal is doing his best to make us respectable here, again. Etta endearing herself to two, maybe three powerful Lords will go a long way. Probably more than any match he might have scrounge up from 'respectable families'. And she makes him smile. I've never seen him smile so much." She seems to blink herself out of it and turns to Hermione. "Let's not talk about this anymore. We need shoes then you can show me around the village. I've never been before!"

Later, she gets hugged by Sirius Black and Fiona looks aghast at Ron and Ginny's description of their dress robes. So it's back to Gladrags under Weasley protests until she threatens them with Bill.

"She's a pill, isn't she?" Sirius asks sitting with Hermione on one of the couches in the main area.

"She's excitable. She was very nice last summer when I was in France," Hermione answers as she takes in the man beside her. He looks tanner, less wraith pale. Someone has gotten him a haircut and a brush to tame his hair into soft dark waves. He's also put on weight and was wearing robes that didn't hang off him like sacks. 

"The Rosiers were always very nice," Sirius answers grumpy. "To your face until they tried to hex it off."

"Well, Cal is treating my cousin excellently and the girls seem to love her too," she says looking to where Harry and Ron were looking lost as Ginny and Fi chattered about clothes. "Anyways, he helped you."

When Sirius answers, his voice is low and soft. "You helped me, Hermione."

Her eyes cut to him. "If he didn't tell me about his uncle and your brother, that night would have gone much differently." Likely, she would have broken every law in the book by using Time Magic to break him out of his cells. At 14. That might have been less frightening and traumatic. She could barely get through Potions without wanting to throw her entire caldron at Snape these days.

"I know but if you hadn’t been brave enough to get between me and the Ministry…”

“Are you talking to your grandfather?” she asks bluntly. She didn’t want to talk about that. She didn’t want to remember it or the summer where she disassociated or that sometimes, she still felt out of her own body. Still felt cold and alone, chilled to her bones and his panicked breathing echoed in her ears behind her. 

Sirius pulls a face. “No but he’s letting me stay in my parents’ old place. Says I can do whatever I want to it so long as it stays standing and I respect my father’s and brother’s old things. Moony is living with me as we clean the place out and my cousin Andromeda is helping with that too.”

“You should ask Bill Weasley and Morgana Nott. They’re curse breakers,” she says sipping the bubbly juice provided.

“Luke Nott is one thing but-”

“She was 10 when You-Know-Who died,” Hermione interrupts. “And she ran away from home at 15. She’s also the one who chaperoned me and the Rosier girls around Nice, France last year to not tip my parents and Etta’s parents off about magic. This was before Cal told her, obviously. She had a row with Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Nott at the World Cup too.” Her voice drops some. “He had a restraining order against her on her younger brother’s behalf. I pass notes between Mor and Theo.”

Sirius sighs. “You’re right, I know. She’s Nymphadora’s best friend too. It's just hard… getting over the names.”

“Her and Cal taught me a lot about how to deal with Slytherins last year,” she says thoughtfully. “Mostly that they’re just trying to survive their parents. I have study sessions with Blaise Zabini for Arithmancy and Runes while Malfoy and Nott sit a table away so Zabini can confirm our answers with theirs.”

Sirius looks a little far away for a moment. “Alice, your mate Neville’s mum, used to do that with our little brothers and Evan Rosier. Her and Lily, Harry’s mum, would sit in the library and make sure the three of them were studying.” He looks sad, like Cléa and Evan and Molly. “Her brother still cries over her in Azkaban. For all of them.”

She’s pretty sure she’s lost him entirely now. He’s just staring off into the middle-ground, not focusing on anything. She’s seen Evan do this in the very early years. Matt had usually swooped in and sent her off to fetch a book or wash her hands and when she’d come back, Evan would be smiley again. It had lessened over the years and she had learned that he was remembering something terribly bad. So she’d hug him and make him get them both chocolate ice cream and they wouldn’t play pretend in the backyard but watch colorful Disney Princess movies. 

Today, Hermione wraps a hand around Sirius’ thin wrist and squeezes. He actually jolts out of his memory and looks at her hand. When he meets her eyes, embarrassment reflects at her from grey eyes. “Sorry. Sometimes I get… lost. Andy thinks I should talk to someone.”

“Do wizards have psychologists?” Hermione muses extracting her hand. “Probably called something dumb, like Mind Healers.” He snorts.

“Not the same thing. Those are more focused on memory spells and brain damage. Not what you two are talking about. Can’t talk to anyone muggle so its moot.”

“I’m sure there’s something on the continent or America. I’d ask Nott. My neighbor is a professor of child developmental psychology at Oxford. His partner is a book dealer. They both have helped me a lot, even if I have to talk around the magic bits.”

“I’ll think about it. How’s classes? Ron and Harry hardly mentioned anything. Moody is your DADA teacher now, isn’t he?” Sirius asks. “He was harsh in auror training. Can’t imagine him teaching kids.”

“He’s decent. Not better than Professor Lupin but leagues better than Quirrell and Lockhart.” Then Hermione launches into a full syllabus overview of each of her classes. It keeps the chill out of her bones and she hopes it does the same for Sirius.

===

She wants to sue the Ministry and school all over again for child endangerment when her head breaks the water of the Black Lake. 

And then it’s the Third Tournament and it’s the two stupidest tasks. You can’t see what happened under the water or in the maze. Fleur comes out first then Viktor. Fleur wakes and is talking to her mum quickly in French, gesturing pointedly at Viktor. When Viktor is woken up, he seems dazed with barely any recollection of the entire task. 

Then Harry appears with Cedric and Cedric is _barely breathing_. And Harry is shouting about how _He’s back! He’s back!_ And its chaos and Hermione can’t move from her seat, squished next to Theo Nott of all people with Malfoy and Pansy above them and Blaise next to Nott and Ron next to her. 

It's confirmed that Cedric is alive, but Harry is missing and from her seat, she can see a small form being led to the castle, just at the doors, by a larger imposing one. She _climbs over_ Nott and Zabini, ignoring Ron’s shouting at her. Because she knows, _she knows_ who put the Goblet in the Maze. She knows that Alastor Moody was in the area of Bartimus Crouch’s body.

But his name hadn’t been on the Marauder’s Map. Only in his office. _Always in his office_. 

It is only outside Moody’s office that she remembers, auror or not, she was fifteen and he was past twenty-five. She stands frozen on the spot, listening through the door as ‘Moody’ asks Harry what it was like, who was there, goes on and on about loyalty and betrayal. She can’t fight this man who was a likely Death Eater. One who paraded as an ex-auror, Dumbledore’s own friend, right under the Headmaster’s nose. Performed Unforgivables in front of and upon students.

But with the wooden leg, her and Harry could run faster. 

Hermione opens the door as quietly as possible. It's not noticed by ‘Moody’, too busy ranting at Harry about his own intelligence. She takes aim and “ _Inflamari Diabolica!”_ Blue flames leap at ‘Moody’. He leaps away as she casts a cancelling hex at Harry. Its intercepted by Moody but behind her, she hears someone shout “ _Incarcurus!”_ Ropes wrap around the imposter then someone cancels the fire as it burns its way through papers and the desk and books.

She half turns and, everything seems to have been taken out of her between the run and the spell (she’d gotten it out of a book Cal had sent her for Christmas. Like her favored Bluebell spell but _dangerous_ ) because she stumbles on the turn and leans heavy on one of the little side tables. But it's Snape that’s marching into the room and pouring something into Harry’s mouth. The dizziness passes as Harry races to her side.

“Mione, that was amazing,” he says and clutches her into him. She hugs him back but keeps her eyes on the imposter and Snape.

“Damn mudblood-fucking traitor,” ‘Moody’ snarls at Snape. “You’re too late. He’s already back, _Snape._ ”

“Who are you?” Snape demands. “Alastor, for all his insanity, would never take Potter away from Albus’ side.”

“Harry, you have _got_ to stop going off with strangers,” Hermione says shaking her friend. “Stranger danger! People want you dead!”

“He’s a professor!” Harry says back but he sounds wreaked. She gets it. She’d let anyone lead her out of a situation like he’d just been in. Cedric’s unmoving body flashes through her mind.

“He’s not,” she insists. “He’s a Death Eater!” Then her mind catches up to who’d followed her. “Professor Snape, how did you follow me?”

The professor turns to her but doesn’t actually turn away from the imposter Moody. “Granger, Potter comes back shouting about someone being back and then Nott says you’ve run off after an auror and Potter after saying ‘Polyjuice Potion’ wasn’t something to be dismissed.”

“Oh,” she says blinking. “Did I say that out loud? It's been a bit of a stressful day.”

“Yes,” Snape drawls. “Where did you learn that spell?”

“Er, _Le Livre Des Arts: Une Histoire Des Sorts Traditionnels_? My cousin’s boyfriend sent it to me for Christmas. She’s a muggle but he’s a wizard,” she admits. Imposter Moody starts laughing but it sounds wrong. His features are melting. The potion had to be wearing off. 

And soon enough, a dirty blond man, much skinnier than Moody that he’s swimming in the clothes, sits there. He’s handsome but he doesn’t bear much resemblance to Crouch Senior, so she wonders if she’s correct in her assessment. 

“That little fucking brat,” he spits at her. “I should have ended that filthy cow. His father would be ashamed. His uncles would never let him-”

“Crouch?” Snape says startled. So, Hermione wasn’t wrong. “Barty Crouch Jr?”

“Severus Snape, Dumbledore’s lackey aren’t you?” Barty asks, disgusted. “Our Lord gave you everything. I knew Evan would never betray us but you, always panting after that mudblood even when she didn’t give you the time of-”

“Enough,” Snape snaps at him. “Granger, go fetch-”

“No offense, sir, but you _are_ a former Death Eater,” she points out, levelling her wand at the two of them. “And you refused to listen to us about Sirius and Wormtail last year. So, um, I don’t know if we can trust you.”

“That’s a suspicious mind you have,” he says coldly.

“Well, this is the second teacher who's been in league with Voldemort we’ve had in four years. And Ron’s rat was a dead guy so like, at this point anything could happen.” _Like I might pass out soon_ , she says to herself. 

“Very thoughtful, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore says stepping into the room. McGonagall crowds in behind him but gasps at the sight of Barty. The Minister is also there, going white, and some more aurors and ministry officials. “But I think you can lower your wand now.”

Her arm drops and she clutches Harry’s hand even tighter with her free one. She says, “Sir, Barty Crouch Jr. has been masquerading as Alastor Moody all year.” 

“Clever little mudblood,” Barty sneers.

“You know,” she heaves a breath. “You know, all your dad’s friends and the professors say all sorts of nice things about you. Poor Barty Crouch, his dad was so ashamed. Should’ve paid more attention to him. Poor Barty, he was so smart and clever. Fell in with a bad crowd.” He’s staring at her, incandescently enraged. She heaves another heavy breath. “But you’re just a disappointment. You aren’t even clever. Malfoy comes up with more clever insults and he’s hardly even trying these days. Is that why you hung out with Rosier and Black, because they were better than you?” He starts shouting insults and rage at her, about them, about her, about how _clever_ he was. 

“Severus, please escort Miss Granger and Mr. Potter to the Infirmary,” Dumbledore orders. Hermione lets herself be led away, head held high. 

“Wait!” Barty shouts as they almost get out the door. “The spell. The fire. Why that one?”

Hermione pauses and Snape lets her. She turns around to look at a long-forgotten face, a long forgotten one in the back of a book. “You were at the World Cup, weren’t you? That’s why Mr. Crouch never showed up to take the seat Winky was ‘saving’ because you were there under an Invisibility spell.” The Minister sputters. “So you heard Cal’s girlfriend, _my_ cousin. Evan, my muggle neighbor, told us to light things on fire if we ever needed a distraction. She lit her bully’s belongings on fire.” Hermione gives him a probably manic smile. She thinks about the roses detailed among the book’s pages, the name on the inside cover, the author’s name. “I’ll light anyone that tries to hurt my friend on fire.”

“So did my Evan,” Barty shoots back like he won. “He loved that spell.”

She tilts her head. “If he was your Evan, I don’t think he would have thrown himself drunk in front of the aurors on Reggie’s birthday. I guess that’s two people who you weren’t enough for.” His face drops and she’s out the door with Snape’s hand on her shoulder before he can retort.

“Jesus Mione,” Harry breathes. “Merlin, where did you get all that from?” She doesn’t answer, just lets Snape march them through the castle. “Mione?”

“I’m just realizing that I might have just admitted to using a spell that could be considered dark magic in front of our professors and the Minister of Magic,” she muses. Snape snorts. “Also, you and I really need to work on our self-preservation skills."

"We do," he agrees. "I mouthed off to Voldemort and you've gone and mouth off to at least two Death Eaters now."

"How did Ron end up the sensible one?" She lets out a laugh. It doesn’t sound amused but it catches Harry’s fancy and he starts laughing. And then they’re two nutters laughing and leaning on each other so they don’t fall down, in the middle of the second floor corridor while their professor watches on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, first thing I need to cover: I totally wrote Voldemort was in a queer relationship here. I don't support the 'gay villain' trope. I _do_ support Tom Riddle being a needy manipulative fuck who'll use people's feelings against them. I get into the details of Tom and Orion in the next chapter but Orion was very much in love with Tom, who viewed that love as loyalty. Orion Black, Abraxas Malfoy and Adam Zabini all had family and professional duties which took them away from Riddle as they got into their later-20s/early-30s. Egomanic like Riddle, that's a no-no.
> 
> Second, I REFUSE to believe the kids of Death Eaters weren't afraid of Moody, just on name alone. Never mind when Moody!Crouch whips out his wand and starts torturing their classmates as 'lessons'. This man canonically killed DEs and was heavily involved in arresting Top Tier Death Eaters. 
> 
> Third, Snape and Lucius Malfoy will not be redeemed. Snape might be Dumbledore's man but I refuse to believe he wouldn't have been Voldemort's if Lily hadn't been a target. As for Lucius, a racist is a racist and this bitch never even attempted to _pretend_ not to be a bad guy. He tried to kill an 11 year old and then went to smack 12yo Harry for fucking his plans up. If he physically abuses Draco is up for debate (I don't think Narcissa would allow that) but he'd 100% be an abuse apologist for other people's kids. (Other DE's do a bit of a redemption arc, cause like Evan and Regulus, I doubt they all signed up for funsies.)
> 
> And finally, thank you all so much for your comments and kudos! I always get so excited to see them in my email/inbox. I've been writing fanfic for myself 15+ years, this is the first big one I've posted so I'm happy people are enjoying it! Year 5 is written. After that, I have to work out what I want to keep from book 6 and 7 and what's gonna be yeeted from canon. But next chapter is the fun one, where Hermione finally confronts Evan on if he tried to kill her best friend this past spring.
> 
> Thanks all!


	4. Dead Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evan Rosier is a depressed mess and his neighbor wants some answers. Hermione heads off to a London townhouse and is shown how to sneak out by day two. Pictures and rings are viewed, lawyers are called and someone tells the Order that they need to buckle the fuck up before their whole organization crashes into a wall.
> 
> Hermione gets some sexy Black Family Drama background and has some discussions about class and privilege.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Covers Summer between Year 4 and Year 5.
> 
> TW: alcohol (no one is drunk, its just very obviously being used as a coping mechanism); depression, the 'First' Wizarding War
> 
> So all my chapter titles have been song lyrics. Mostly i just pick songs from a current playlist and they have not real relation. but this song I picked specifically! Its called "Dead Hearts" by Stars. I recommend listening to it. I think it really fits with the losses that Evan and Sirius both went through as teens/young adults.
> 
> Someone lovely person in a comment told me they read the last 3 chapters in 2 hours and to that person, go you! I started this story when JKR kept opening her mouth last year (2020) and decided I wanted to blow her word count out of the water. What I have pre-written surpasses Book 1 (76K) and is getting close to book 2(85K). I don't think I'll pass OotP (257K) but I hope I'll at least reach HBP (168k)

===

In the end, Harry gets healed and Barty gets the Kiss without trial. Hermione feels bad for two seconds, if only pity because there was no one to speak for him. According to Fi, his last friend was Rabastan Lestrange in Azkaban. (And according to her gut feeling, she doesn’t think that’s true either. Siblings shouldn’t torture each other like what happened to Alice. Someone Cal and Mor looked up to wouldn’t be friends with someone like that.) Cedric is _alive_ but admitted to St. Mungo’s. 

They go home. On the platform, she catches Theo’s eye before he’s led away, head down, by his father. Pansy brushes past her, their hands touching as she heads for her parents, back straight as a rod. Draco spits a last insult at the three of them before he’s whisked away by his father. And every single one of their fathers watch her and Harry as she guides him out of the magical world. Flint’s, Crabbe’s, Goyle’s, Bulstrode’s. She can feel their eyes on her, on them, even if Harry’s attention has moved inwards to focus on surviving his relatives. 

“Do you have plans this summer?” he asks as they spill on to the muggle platform. His uncle will be waiting on the street. She opted for the Knight Bus this year; her father was in Edinburg and her mother had the practice to run.

“Not strictly,” she says. “I'm sure we'll both be picked up by the Weasleys soon enough."

"Not soon enough," Harry says lingering behind a pillar. He looks guilty quickly. "Sorry, I know you miss your parents."

She doesn't know how to explain that she hasn't thought about missing her parents since the Shrieking Shack. How do you explain to an orphan that there's a disconnect with your family that had nothing to do with six feet of dirt? How do you explain that in one single moment, standing between a man's soul and a government wanting to consume it, you found something _more_? She'd lost something last summer and she didn't think her parents would really understand.

"I know, Harry," she says gently. "Maybe you and Sirius can hang out more this summer. He's cleared now so you can visit and stuff."

He brightens up. "Yeah, yeah I can."

"And if you need to talk, actually talk, I've wrote my number down and put it in the pocket of the invisibility cloak. I do know how to use the phone. Leave a message on the answering machine if I don't pick up." 

Harry smiles at her sheepishly. "Sometimes I forget how convenient muggle communication is." 

"Come on, I'll walk you to your uncle's car," she says, hooking their arms not carrying their trunks together. "Off to our boring non-magical lives." He groans at the reminder. And if, while he's loading his trunk into the boot of his uncle's car, Hermione leans in to the back passenger window of the car and says over his cousin, "Hello, Mr. Dursley, Mrs. Dursley. Hello, Dudley, my name is Hermione, Harry's my best friend. So just so you're aware, my cousin is dating a lawyer so if you put a hand on Harry or lock his things up or _him_ up, I will shove NSPCC so far down your throats, it'll come out the other end." She smiles prettily at Dudley as his father sputters. "Harry says you do boxing at Crummings?"

"Er, yes?" he says unsure. She can see a blush forming on his cheeks. She'd worn a nice dress and used sleekeazy's in the shower this morning.

"That's brill! My da went to Crummings too," she says and it's not a lie. Harry slides into the backseat, giving her a strange look over Dudley’s shoulder. "He was a three year junior national champion at Crummings, back in the 70s of course."

Even so, Dudley's eyes widen and he blurts out, "Is your dad Gregory Granger? He's legendary. My trainer went to school with him." She makes an interested noise. "James Walters. What's your da do now?"

"Him and mum own their own dentist practice. I think your trainer must be Uncle Jimmy! He taught me how to box too." This is a lie. While she did know James Walter, he was a 'good olde boy' who thought she was best at cooking. She very much was not good at cooking, potions aside. But he was loud and came over for drinks during the summer so she knew a bit. Enough to get by in this conversation. "What's your nickname? He always brags about his boxers by nickname, for privacy reasons."

"Big D. I'm 6-0."

She ooo's. "He's mentioned you. You one shot that kid from Sherman's, didn't you?" Dudley nods, chest puffing out pridefully. "Wow, that's so cool. Uncle Jimmy said you could go pro." She smiles over at Petunia. "You must be so proud, Mrs. Dursley. Two potential pro athletes in the family."

Dudley's head whips around to Harry. "You play a sport?" he demands.

"Er, yes. Quidditch. It's like football and lacrosse, on brooms," Harry explains nervously.

"He's been on the school team since first year. We had scouts down at the school this year." Which technically, not untrue. Viktor and Lev were both pro-players and Ludo Bagman was commissioner so they _could_ pass Harry’s name along to teams. "They're looking to recruit Harry out of school if possible." A clock chimes somewhere. "Oh, I have to get to my bus. Da's in Edinburgh visiting Uncle Jim and mum had an emergency tooth pulling. I hope I get to see a match one day, Big D." She winks at him. "Have a good summer, Harry."

"You too Mione," Harry says smiling at her.

(Two days later, she gets a letter from Harry. Dudley has made him give him a full rundown of Quidditch and stolen his Quidditch Through the Ages book. Then demanded match details and to see his broom. Uncle Vernon won't look at him. Harry is both delighted and terrified.)

When Hermione steps off the Knight Bus, she's not queasy or too tossed about. No, she spent the entire ride stewing, planning, remembering. Also, chatting with Stan about Viktor Krum, because he recognized her from the paper. But mostly, stewing.

She drops her trunk off in her empty house, walks over to the stone wall in the backyard and heaves herself over it into Evan and Matt's yard. Evan isn't in his garden and Matt’s car was gone so it's possible both are out, even if Evan’s Audi is sitting in the carport. All the lights are out too so Evan could very well be away.

She knows he won't be. He never misses seeing her back. She lifts up on the door handle and shoves. The lock has been broken for years, easily skimmed but just popping the entire thing up and out of the closing mechanism is much easier. As always, the door swings open and she steps into their darkened kitchen. It smells like a brewery and there's bottles lined up next to the sink and on the counter next to the trash, on the table. Liquor to beers to wine. The dishes are done or they've been eating takeout, as the pizza boxes indicate.

She ignores all that to go down the short hall, past the bathroom and spare guest room/Matt's office, into the usually clean if book cluttered den. Bottles and old Chinese or pizza boxes are crowded on the coffee table, there's a broken one against the wall between the windows. Crumpled blankets on the couch. She sidesteps the glass and heads to the stairs. Normally, she loathed to go into Matt's or Evan's rooms. It's their private spaces and they are grown adults and she was not. But sometimes Matt will be working in his office and the den will be too loud for him, but it was snowy or raining, so Evan would bring her upstairs and read her books.

Books about hopping pots as an allegory for kindness and wishing fountains where most everyone's wish comes true before they make it there. Stories about cruel heartless men and the woman who try to fix them, to their own detriment. The truth about Cinderella and her step-sisters' mutilated feet; The Mermaid who turned to seafoam and drowned her prince; Snow White and the heart of the Queen given to her by the Huntsmen. Sleeping Beauty in her castle of stones, protected by dragon and roses. Books about three brothers who tricked Death but Death got his in the end. All but the last who greeted Him.

"It's not a good time," Evan's voice says when she crests the last step. Matt's door is wide open, to a neat room on the left; the bathroom door is wide open on the right. She heads right into the dark master bedroom. It's only lit by the gloomy clouded sun outside the three windows. That's enough for her to see the clothes spilling out of the laundry basket, a crowd of empty water bottles and Tums on both bedside tables that bookends the king sized bed. And the man stretched out on the bed, dressed in sweatpants and a Oxford hoodie. She can't see him well but she can tell he's a mess and his voice sounds rough, from crying or shouting. Possibly both. He has one arm over his eyes and the other hand is fisting a crumpled newspaper cutting. 

And the skull mask, shining dull chrome next to his hip. It's broken into three pieces but there's swirls and designs around the toothy mouth and empty eyes.

Hermione ignores all that for his closet. She pulls down the journal under a box of winter clothes and flips open to the back cover. There is taped a photo, of almost fifteen years younger Barty Crouch Jr. laughs, sitting on the arm of a chair. In the chair is a smiling redhead, deep red, not bright like the Weasley fire but dark like stained wood. He's looking at the matching couch, where a young Evan is sprawled out, head pillowed on the lap of another boy, black haired and strongly featured, smiling gently down at Evan. Evan is reaching out to grab something golden and winged hanging above him. They're all in button down white shirts, Barty's is unbuttoned the top two buttons and untucked. The red head is half untucked and his red hair is mussed but the black haired one is fully buttoned up, even his emerald green waistcoat and not a hair out of place. Evan's shirt is buttoned but his own navy blue waistcoat, with the roses stitched in silver, is open. They look so happy.

She turns back to the bed and kneels on the free side to look down at him. "I need you to be honest," she says hard and cold. She sees his chest heave, hears it catch on the release. "Evan, were you there when that maniac tried to kill my best friend?"

Evan breathes twice more, catching each time before he says, "I've been in a hospital bed for three weeks in Italy." 

"Would you have been?"

"They think I'm dead," he states. "I am dead. To everyone but Mattie and my…"

"Your grandfather?" She offers. 

"No. My bosses, Adam Zabini and Abraxas Malfoy." Not Corin, not Lord Black. "I'm sorry. If I knew Barty…" He chokes off. She sighs and shifts around so that she's laying on the bed too, staring up at the ceiling and its water spots. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too," she says softly. "Would you have helped him?"

"Yes- no, not like this," Evan says and raises his arm. The half a skull mask gleams down at them. "Not this. I never wanted this." He drops his arm back down. After a while he asks, "What gave me away?"

"You got really unlucky and your nephew started dating Etta," Hermione says. "But you probably shouldn't have taught me how to make a perfect pepper-up potion, either."

Evan laughs, raw. "Fucking Cal. I hope Snape gave you a decent grade."

"He didn't. Said I cheated off Theo Nott."

"Bastard."

"Did you love him?" She turns her head to look at his profile.

"We were very close, best friends." His voice falters. It takes him a moment to continue. "Azkaban didn't do that to him or whatever Senior did to keep him sedate. My friend died a long time ago, years before you were born even." He sighs and turns his head to look at her. "But I was in love with someone else in that photo."

"You have his name sake tattooed on your arm, you loser," she says looking away. "And his brother and his _dad_."

He gives an amused breath through his nose. "His dad was… I made a promise to both of them that I would keep him safe. I failed and I don't even know where I went wrong. No one does. He just… disappeared. When I… Well, when I left, that was the first time I saw Sirius since his funeral. I was a mess and I wanted out. So I took the chance."

"You killed someone to fake your death," she mutters.

"I killed a traitor and faked my death," he corrects. "Fenwick was reporting Order movements to us."

She thinks. It could be a lie but for what reason. "Did you know about Wormtail?"

"Sort of. A lot of us were informants, one way or another. There was no way to know where loyalties laid, when most of us were taught loyalty to family first. Bella, she was loyal and Barty was her pet but Rabastan, no? Mattie's brother, Antonin Dolohov was a ministry spy, I know that and Rookwood could've been either. Snape, I thought might have been loyal but there was Evans- well, Lily Potter to keep in mind. He was in love or obsessed with her. Bastard." He sighs. "I figured Pettigrew was one of Dumbledore's, one of Sirius'. Adam's had me hunting him on and off since last year." 

They both fall silent. "I almost lit Barty on fire." She sees Evan prop himself up on an elbow to look at her in the dark. "He was doing a villainous monologue at Harry; wizards need to watch more movies, like a Bond marathon. Basically, I'm two for two on lighting Death Eater Professors on fire as a distraction."

"I am incredibly proud of you," he says honestly. "Please never tell me you distracted one of my old friends again. I have exactly one left, probably, and he's in jail."

"Do you want to hear about the Chamber of Secrets and the three week basilisk-induced coma?" she asks amused.

"No," he says, flopping down again. "You better start at whatever the hell happened to Quirrell first though." She gets all the way through the first year before the front door downstairs opens. A few minutes later, Matt pokes his head in.

"Pizza?" he offers after taking them in.

"Thai?" Hermione counters hopefully.

"I want pizza," Evan says. 

"Thai sounds good. I'll call," Matt decides. Evan grumbles but doesn't argue.

"What's his deal?" Hermione asks. "His brother was a Death Eater? Was he?"

"He's a Squib. Matyas Dolohov, second child to the Dolohov family. Six years younger than his brother. Antonin joined because their father threatened to kill Matt if he didn't. Antonin made a deal with Orion Black for his safety."

"Hm, Lucetia Prewett thinks he was innocent of the Prewett murders," she says. "That's what your niece says anyways."

"Yeah. Could be. Antonin wouldn't risk Matt for his own freedom by targeting others. He loved Matt beyond anything. Gideon understood that."

"What about Rabastan Lestrange?" she questions. "Fi and Pansy said he claimed to not have been at the Longbottoms but refused to say where he'd been instead. No alibi."

She watches his face twist in the twilight. "Yeah, I believe him. He loved Alice too and was dead scared of their older brother. Rodolphus and Bellatrix forced him into joining, like I was." Evan gets that sad, haunted look. "Rab was in love with someone. I'm not going to say who, because it can put her in a lot of danger. If he was with her that night, he'd rather go to prison."

"But…" 

"She's married, with at least a child. If the affair was found out, if there was a hint that the Heir was a product of the affair, her husband could have harmed them, killed them. He wasn’t a good person either.” They’re quiet for a few moments. “So, Second Year? Lockhart was really your professor?”

“He was such an idiot. So that year started when the Malfoys’ House-elf stole all of Harry’s incoming letters to make him think we didn’t really like him.” Hermione proceeds to tell him, and Matt who sits in the armchair, dumping a pile of clothes onto the floor with the rest of Evan’s depression mess, all about Dobby and the heir of Slytherin, the Diary and how Harry tricked Lucius Malfoy into freeing Dobby.

“And you were paralyized for the fight?” Mattie asks around the newly arrived spring roll. “You aren’t just sparing Evan’s heart.”

“Wait until I tell him about how I saved Sirius from being executed by throwing myself between him and a dementor and the Minister of Magic.” 

“Fudge is a fucking idiot,” Evan mutters around a bit of Pad Thai. “Fuck Lucius and the money that keeps that fool in power. Giving a diary like that to a little kid. I hope he gets chem burns from his hair dye.”

“It's natural,” Matt points out. 

“Mione, light him on fire next time you see him,” Evan orders. “But surreptitiously. Don’t get caught.”

“Its okay. I have a really great lawyer.” Though how she was going to face Cal when she knew his uncle was alive, was going to be a different matter. 

“When are you going to the Weasleys?” Matt asks, yawning.

“I don’t know yet. Hopefully soon, for Harry’s sake at least,” she says frowning. “He’s super disappointed Sirius couldn’t get custody this year. At least at the Burrow he can go for a fly.”

“It's good though. We come from rough backgrounds, then Sirius was in a war then straight into something like Azkaban?” Matt, the psychologist says. “That’s top notch trauma.”

“Does he psychology you all the time?” Hermione asks looking at the other man.

“He gave me two weeks to get my coping mechanisms all over the house before I had to clean up after myself,” Evan says pointing at the bedside table. “Or he’d call Zabini. I have three days left.”

Hermione snorts softly. “Too bad the magical world doesn’t actually have psychologists. The daddy issues in Slytherin alone warrant it.”

“The daddy issues in my family would warrant it,” Evan huffs. “Now, how did Sirius terrorize Hogwarts for an entire year?” She grins.

===

Two days into her stay at Number 12, Hermione understands Sirius' hate of the place. The first of which, is the terrible portrait of his mother. The second is the House-Elf heads mounted on the walls. Third is _they can't leave_.

"It's too dangerous," Molly tells her when she mentions going for a walk. Well, she really wanted to hit up the National Museum and it's program on Ancient Egypt. She's been before but now she has two years of Ancient Runes under her scholarly belt and wants to record any she might find.

"I'll be in the muggle world," she sighs. "Mrs. Weasley, I was alone for the past five weeks." _Except the ex-Death Eater next door and his insistence on forcing me to help him with his vegetable garden._ While giving her dossiers on Death Eaters, including if they dropped their left arm during a duel or something. "I'll be fine."

"Dumbledore says you kids need to stay here unless escorted by an Order member. There is no one to escort you," Molly says rolling dough.

"Sirius is an Order member. He's not busy," she says glancing at the animagi. He shakes his head. Yeah, she didn't think it would work either. After a three minutes lecture on safety and how they needed to clean, Hermione sighs, "Okay, Mrs. Weasley. I'm going to go study."

She goes to the study, with its walls of Black names instead of the library. She can feel herself losing focus on anything but the familiar names. Regulus, Rosier, Potter, Draco and Narcissa and Longbottom. Arcturus, Orion, Lestrange. She wonders if at the Chatue in Dijon, the Rosiers have a similar wall. One day, Etta could be on that wall, twinned to Cal with golden thread. 

"Awful, isn't it?" Sirius asks from the doorway. She snaps back to attention, eyes focusing on his slouch against the door frame.

"I spent all summer by myself. No one stopped me from wandering around Uffington." No one knows my neighbors are the squib brother of a Death Eater and _a Death Eater_. 

"I meant the tapestry," he says pointing. Her eyes drift back, to his brother's name and the spot where he should be. "I always hated it. It's like a list of why purebloods should be abolished."

"I like it," she says. His brows furrow. "It's history. Most of my family records have been wiped out or lost in the War, if it was ever recorded. Even if they're awful, they're a connection, something that grounds you into this world. I feel lost sometimes." She can see him studying her for a good long minute while she focuses on Lucretia and her two unnamed sons.

"Here, I'll show you something," Sirius says, gesturing for her to follow him out of the room. Curiosity piqued, she gets up and they head up the stairs. "I hate this house. Even with the cleaning we've been doing, I just remember all the ghosts. Sometimes I expect to see my cousin Cissa at the piano or find Regulus eavesdropping outside our father's office when I go to the second floor."

"Makes sense," she says just to show she's listening.

"Right, well, I hate it. It's not all good things," he says going up to the fourth floor. She knew that this floor held his bedroom, access to the attic and his brother's door. She hadn't tried to go in any of them and avoided the staircase. He pauses on the top landing, like he's steeling himself, then opens the door on the right. The one with a peeling Magpies sticker and a sign that says 'No Dogs Allowed'. 

It's clearly a Slytherins' room. The crest is painted on the wall above the emerald and grey blanketed four poster bed. There's a Slytherin scarf hanging on the back of the vanity chair. There's also a very nice oak desk covered in books and papers that Hermione aches to take a look at. She can see _Most Evile Evils_ from the door. It's a Restricted book, one that Hogwarts Library doesn't even have.

"My brother's room," Sirius says by way of explanations. 

"Oh, I thought the newspaper clipping about the Death Eater raids above the bed were yours," she teases. He gives her a brief smile before glancing at the clippings.

"I doubt those are his trophies," he says after a moment. "Those all happened when he was still at Hogwarts or underaged. He wouldn't have been able to attend." Sirius' eyes narrow a little. "I think I was at most of those, as an auror." She doesn't voice what he's probably thinking: Regulus followed his career. As much as possible. He snorts then strolls across the floor to the window closest to the desk. He fiddles with the lock and it springs upwards after a moment. "My parents sealed up my window after the third time I ran away but I used to sneak out Reggie's window all the time to explore. I'm not encouraging that."

But he ducks out the window onto the roof. She glances around the room and follows him out. Outside, they have a view of the overrun backyard garden (twice the size of either neighbors, she assumed magic was involved) and beyond the house behind them, Big Ben. The roof is gently sloped, and there must be a cushioning spell on the shingles because they aren't hard when she sits next to Sirius.

"We'd come out here as kids to try and find our stars," he says pointing at the cloudy but day time sky. "Later on, my brother would come out to read and avoid our mother shouting at me. I assume, he also brought Rosier, Crouch and Lestrange out here when they were over. I would've brought my friends, if they were allowed over."

"How do you get down?" she asks peeking over the edge. Down would lead you past the bedroom and study windows. Sirius points left to the attached townhouse. 

"You can jump the gap onto their roof then shimmy down the lattice into the side alley on the other side. Course, Edith, that's the muggle woman who lived there, she must be in her 70s by now, she'd let me back in through her front door," he explains amused. "She was a great old bird. Somehow, friends with my father. He'd even go take tea with her. I assume it has something to do with the bombings when they were kids but when Mother scolded him, he always said he was just being neighborly." He snorts. "Maybe they were having an affair."

No, Hermione thinks grimly. _Your father was boning the Dark Lord since they were teenagers._ Orion Black must have spent wretched hours during Voldemort's rising kicking himself. Scrambling to fix a mistake.

"You can come sit out here to avoid everyone," Sirius offers. She looks over at him again. He gives her a toothy smile. "Just don't sneak out and if you do, bring me with you."

"I just want to go to the museum," she sighs. He laughs at her, crawling back into the window. Hermione follows him but pauses outside. Carved into the frame is a rose and a lion head. She brushes her finger tips to it and murmurs, "We shine together." She blinks as the carving lights up and, with a snick, some of the shingles move apart to create a compartment. Big enough to hold a good size book standing upwards and some scrolls shoved in next to. 

"You coming?" Sirius calls. 

Heart thumping, Hermione shoves the compartment close again, saying, "Yeah, just catching some air. It's so dusty in here." She climbs back in and straightens her t-shirt. 

"Right well, as I said, you're welcome to go hide out there but, be careful in here," he says looking around again. "Reg was a private person."

"With you and all your cousins? I imagine it's a bit like Ginny, being the youngest," she says wandering over to the vanity. Taped to the edges are pictures. The three Black sisters, must be before Andromeda married Tonks' dad; the picture from Evan's journal but this one Evan's hand shoots up to catch the snitch and releases it on loop; and one that must be Sirius and Regulus in Sirius' first year at Platform 9¾. Evan features heavily in most of them, with appearances of Barty Jr. and Rabastan. 

There's one of Evan crouched in front of a trio of seven or eight year olds, and a bigger nine year old. The older kid must be related to one of the younger kids because they both have copper hair, while the girl must be Morgana and the last boy is certainly Cal. In the background, there's a man who looks like Bill smiling at the blond man from Matt's photo of his brother. Even as she watches, the four kids light up in joy as something in Evan's hands glitters and pops. Hermione's favorite has to be the one half hidden behind a scowling Bellatrix and a smiling Narcissa, with Regulus between them. It's of Regulus sleeping in the Slytherin common room, stretched out on top of Evan's chest and legs, as the other boy reads over his head. Every so often, Evan will bury his nose in the other boy's black hair. It's so… soft.

"That's Rabastan and Barty,” Sirius says, tapping the photo copy from the journal. "And of course, Evan is the one cuddled up to my brother."

"He looks like Cal and the girls," Hermione says softly. "I don't think they have anything like these." She points at the one with the four kids. "This is Cal and Mor, right? Who are the other kids?" Sirius leans in to get a better look.

He makes a surprised noise. "That's Gideon Prewett and Antonin Dolohov in the background. I think those kids might be Bill and Charlie."

"Molly would go nuts if she saw this," she snickers. 

"Oh, yeah. Her brother bringing her kids to meet Death Eaters? She might be able to reach my mother’s levels of fury."

"I think I'll bring it up at dinner next time one of them is here," she muses. "Dinner and a show, huh?" He chuckles and then he taps the pictures with his wand. A bunch of duplicates flutter onto the vanity top in a pile.

"Here, you can send these copies to your cousin's boyfriend. You're right, they probably don't have photos of Evan as a kid. Callum helped and Fiona seems like a good kid."

"Yeah, they all are," she says, flipping through the pile. "Thanks Sirius." Later, she borrows Pegwidge to send the photos and letters to Cal. And even later, she slips out of Regulus' window and across the roofs to drop down into the sideroad. She doesn't go far from Number 12, just to the mailbox on the block over. There she posts a letter to Professor Matt Hullum at Oxford University, with it, a picture of two boys in love.

She's huffing and puffing by the time she manages to pull herself up onto the rooftop again. An elderly voice almost scares her into falling down into the garden of number 14.

"Hello there!" Hermione catches herself on a chimeney and pants before she turns to address the window. There, a grey hair jovial looking woman in her seventies waves from inside Number 14. She has a cuppa tea on the window sill.

"Erm, hello," Hermione greets waving back awkwardly. She looks at her feet, obviously standing on the woman's roof, in the middle of the night, close to midnight. She looks back up sheepishly. "Um, I'm not robbing anyone. I just went for a bit of a walk around the block."

"Oh, I know dear," she answers cheerfully. "I heard you sneaking out and thought 'well, it seems we have some more rebels'. I'm Edith." The muggle woman Sirius mentioned. 

"Oh, lot of people sneak out?" Hermione asks curiously.

"Not for quite a bit. Are you one of Orion's grandchildren?" Edith asks.

"No, I'm sorry to say neither of his sons had children," she says. "But I am best friends with Sirius' godson. I'm Hermione."

"Ah, Sirius, the looker," the old woman muses. "I heard he went to prison for blowing up a street. Nonsense of course. That boy was sweet as can be."

"Oh, er, yes. He was framed. Just cleared his name," Hermione answers. "Regulus passed away, I'm afraid. Illness, I think."

"And Orion's daughter?" 

"Daughter?" she echoes.

"Yes, the pretty blond one. Older than the boys. Oh, I think she was raised by his cousin or he had an affair with his cousin's wife? The uppity one, liked roses. French."

"Rosier?" Hermione suggests mind racing. "Do you mean Narcissa?"

"Ah! That's the one." She must see Hermione's shocked face. "Oh my, have I said too much?"

"I mean, yes probably," she agrees. "But I don't know if anyone else knows. Wow." That would make Draco from a direct line of Blacks, not one of the side families. Did Abraxas know that his son married his best friend's _daughter_? "Wow, okay. I'm not going to tell anyone but wow." Did Evan know his cousin was his best friend's sister? "Um, she got married. Not a great guy but they have a son. He's my age. We go to school together."

"Ah, Hogwarts, right?" Hermione blinks again. How did this muggle know… "Deary, Orion and I were neighbors since we were children. I know all about- well, not all about but enough about you know what. Old Archie used to let my little brother- well, I suppose I should admit it now- he used to let my son and I stay in their house during the bombing runs."

"Oh, I had no idea."

"Oh yes. Orion and his friends would keep my Ben quite entertained with tales of dragons and their sparkly sticks. There was Henry, Tom and the blond one with a silly Greek name."

"Abraxas," Hermione answers feeling a little dazed. Tom Riddle had performed magic to keep a little muggle boy quiet. Where did he go wrong? He killed Myrtle at sixteen but was that an accident? "Narcissa married his son. So, who was the last person you caught sneaking out? Besides me, that is."

"Oh, easy. Little Reggie, only I didn't catch him," Edith answers. "He came knocking on this window, all dressed up like a normal person. His brother's clothes, I assume. He said 'Miss Edith, I shall be going away for some time. I mightn't not be back.’ I asked him where he was going, this was after Orion passed away so I didn’t blame the boy. He said ‘to do something incredibly, stupidly brave.'" She looks Hermione over. "Illness?"

"Or something incredibly, stupidly brave, ma'am," Hermione says frowning. "I'm afraid we don't know. He just disappeared. You might have been the last person to see him at all. He didn't say anything else?"

"No. Oh well, he asked that if his friend, can't remember his name but he was a nice lad if a bit stiff, if his friend came by to tell him that he'd gone to do something stupid and that they would 'shine together'." Hermione mouths the words to herself and thinks of the compartment in the roof.

"And did his friend come by?" she asks.

"Oh yes. He looked dreadful. Went right up to the roof, mussed about a bit with the window but I don't think he could get it open and I never saw him again. Archie came by with his daughter, Tia, and closed up the place not long after. I think they moved the wife out." But not the damn portrait. "You look tired dear."

"Oh, yes," she agrees. "I've been spending a lot of time studying before I got here so I didn't have to bother when I could hang out with my friends here." This is a partial lie, as always. She had completed her homework in the first two weeks, at Evan's and Matt's kitchen table as he hand scrubbed the entire house, top to bottom. However, anyone that knew her, knew she would never stop studying. Especially with access to the Black Library and very little adult oversite. She knew in the upcoming years, any bit of knowledge about magic would be helpful.

"Well, you best be off to bed," Edith orders. "But feel free to come by for a chat. My Sam and Trish live in Manchester and our Paul has been gone for twenty-five years now."

"Er, okay ma'am. Oh, if you could not tell anyone you caught me?" she asks hopeful.

She gets a laugh. "Now, how would I do that, deary? Number 12 has disappeared right out from between mine and Number 10."

"Yes, right. Goodnight, Miss Edith."

"Good night, Hermione." Hermione scurries over to Regulus' window. There, she hesitates at the carving before deciding to look into it at a later time. Maybe when Ron and Harry are distracted and Sirius is distracted by Harry. Instead, she slips into the open window.

"I hope you went somewhere fun." She actually yelps and falls onto the floor when the voice comes through the dark room. Sirius' laughs as some of the lamps flare to life. He's standing in the doorway grinning as she picks herself up. "Mione, you really are sneaky, aren't you?"

"I went for a walk," she huffs. "I always take a walk in the late afternoon at home. It's healthy."

"I don't really care," he says dismissively. "I can hardly fault anyone for wanting to stretch their legs and the limits of adult patience."

"How did you know I left?" She asks curiously. "You were downstairs with Remus."

"Oh, when anyone comes or goes from the property, the wards alert me as Master of the House. It's why I have to stay here." He shrugs. "Nice walk?"

"Very. And I met your neighbor. She knows about magic," Hermione answers.

"I suspected as much. Dad would drop Reg and I over there when mum was being particularly mother and he had meetings. She never seemed all the surprised when one of us would do accidental magic."

"She said your grandfather would let her stay here when the Germans were bombing the city. Your father and his friends would entertain her son."

"Henry and Brax did love kids." He goes a little distant in a memory she's sure. "Anyways, bedtime I think. Molly is sure to have us up at dawn to tackle the front room or something." Hermione sighs but follows him out. 

(A week later, Tonks arrives with a letter for her. Bill had given it to her on their last patrol and it'd come from the MAS, official seal and everything. It's written on Adam Zabini's own letterhead but she recognizes the curled writing that simply says _'Thank you. Be safe.'_ )

===

Harry Potter really has the worst luck. What other teenager would be forced to perform magic to fight off soulsucking monsters in front of their muggle cousin? No one else. 

Mrs. Weasley assures them all that Dumbledore will take care of it. Harry will just have to show up at the Ministry and tell his story. And Hermione doesn't doubt it. Dumbledore has a lot to his name. Unfortunately, this also includes hiding a very powerful artifact at the school full of children and hiring not one but Two Death Eaters (she isn't including Quirrell on this one) who uses scare tactics and bullying. He wanted _her_ to use a _time turner_ to free Sirius, condemning him to a life on the run instead of _calling a lawyer_. (Nevermind that he never even asked for a trial of one of his own Order members, leading to said man being in prison, _innocent for twelve years_.)

Additionally, the Ministry is condemning Harry and Dumbledore for saying Voldemort is back. Both are being smashed in the Prophet.

So Hermione knocks on Edith's window and asks to borrow her phone. She calls Etta who gives her Cal's work number. Cal spends three minutes swearing and promises to _Do Something_.

 _Something_ is Arcturus Black stepping out of the fireplace that night into the kitchen, mid-dinner. Sirius actually chokes on his drink while Kreacher wails in joy and throws himself at the Lord Black's feet, crying and blubbering about blood traitors and mudbloods. Arcturus looks down at the House-Elf with disdain, ignoring the surprised Order members and general chaos.

Behind him is a very well robed man with sandy blond hair and a boring face with brown eyes. Well, he's in an over robe that's similar in style to Tonks' Aurors' robes but in black and the MAS logo stitched into the right shoulder. Under that, Hermione can see muggle combat boots and black jeans tucked into them with a Ramones shirt peeking out of the front as he crosses his arms. She squints at him.

"The bloody seven hells are you doing here?" Sirius demands over everyone else and Kreacher. His grandfather looks up at him with cold grey eyes. This seems to piss Sirius off because he starts to swell up his chest.

"Be quiet," Arcturus says in a completely level tone. Kreacher falls silent instantly, everyone else goes into that awkward mumbling before being quiet and Sirius releases all his built up breath in a wordless shout of frustration then just glares at his grandfather. "That's better."

"Hello, Lord Arcturus," Hermione greets politely. 

"Miss Granger, you're looking well," he greets with a nod. He looks at the man that arrived with him. "That one is Hermione Granger. You've met Callum Rosier?"

"Can't say I have, Lordship." The man's voice is accented French or maybe Italian but with a universal tilt that speaks of well travelled and many languages. "Nott's spoken highly of him."

"Right, well, she's his future wife's little cousin. Quite the instigator as well."

"The best kind of cousin," he answers, giving Hermione a small fingered wave. It pulls up his robe sleeves to show off his right wrist. There is a woven pink, purple and yellow bracelet. It could be found on any pre-teen girl and her best friend. Hermione looks from it to his eyes. He quirks a smirk. She grins back. "You're the one who told off the Minister?"

"You're the one who got blasted off a balcony and broke your arm?" She shoots back.

"Well acquainted then," Arcturus says looking between them. "The two loud mouths are my grandchildren, Sirius and Molly. The red heads are all her children, besides that one, Arthur, her husband. That one with the pink hair is my daughter-in-law's niece's girl. Have you met Andromeda?"

"She's been by Adam's villa with her husband," he confirms. "You must be Dora." 

"Just call me Tonks," the auror says quickly. "Only Mor and Charlie can get away with Dora."

"The black haired boy is Harry Potter and finally Remus Lupin, my grandson's… Thing," Arcturus says with a bit of distaste. "Granger, you're political minded. What's the term?"

Hermione thinks quickly, because she can see Harry and Sirius getting very upset. Remus is also sinking into his chair. "Oh, uh, well my neighborhood calls my neighbors, Evan and Matt, ‘wasted on each other’ and Mrs. Willis of 19 calls them some very nasty things. Of course, Evan gives as good as he gets, sir, and once had me help him spread seeds for a quick growing clove on her freshly grassed lawn. More liberal minded people might call them roommates with heavy winking but I think it's just boyfriends or partners. However, I can't speak for them as it's never been confirmed that they are in a relationship, sir. What did you call your son's lover, sir?" She finishes in an innocent and curious tone, with the matching smile. It's the one Evan and Matt had coached her through for Talking To Adults Who Are Bastards.

"A waste of air," Arcturus answers automatically. "Lupin already has a broom up on that sod." He looks at the man with a smirk. "She's the one who called Malfoy's son a wizard Nazi." Then he addresses the room. "This is Rigal Leonzio, Magical Arcane Sector, specialist. He's mothering me while I'm in England. Ignore him."

"I'm just protecting you, sir," Rigal says promptly. 

“So why are you here?” Sirius asks bluntly. 

“Would you like something to eat, Lord Black?” Molly urges already reaching for a plate. He holds up a hand making her stop.

“We will not be staying.” He doesn’t look away from Sirius. “Boy-”

“I’m thirty-five, Arcturus,” his grandson barges in.

“And the fifteen year old-” Here he points at Hermione. “-Is more mature than you. At least she will ask for _legal advice_.” 

“Oh shit,” Hermione mutters, pressing a hand to her face.

“What did you do?” Sirius demands turning on her.

She glares right back. “I asked Cal, _your lawyer_ about Harry’s _legal issue_. You know, the one where he has to go talk to the Head of the Department of Magical Law enforcement?” she says as tightly as possible.

“Dumbledore is handling it, Hermione,” Molly says in a soothing voice. “It's just a little underaged magic. No need to worry anyone else.”

“The boy is getting railroaded and slandered in the paper,” Arcturus says coldly. 

“The paper is trash and you know it,” Sirius snaps. “You’re the one who told me and Regulus we should only ever-”

“Sirius, shut up,” his grandfather orders. And shockingly, he does. “I am going to say this to you once: you are not children. You cannot rely on Albus Dumbledore to have the best interest of _your children_ at heart.”

“And you do?” Sirius sneers. “Where were you or dad when half the fucking family went and got themselves tattooed?”

“I was reminding the Old Families on the Continent of their losses _last_ time they listened to a megalomaniac. Orion was doing his damn job, the job he’d held since 1947.” 

“What job?!”

“Spymaster, you idiot,” Rigal answers shortly. “Orion Black, Head of the Intelligence Agency for over thirty years. Your Ministry went into a complete scramble after he died."

"Dad was not a-" Sirius stops. "He never said."

"That's not a surprise. You never had the temperament for all your sneaking and Regulus was too soft," Arcturus scoffs. "This isn't the point. The point, Sirius, is that by all accounts, the entire world considered your war here lost by the Ministry and Order fifteen years ago. The Ministry was in shambles without Orion, distrusting his apprentices as they did. They were and are ready for the fall of Dumbledore. You _lost_ last time around and it was only by the gods' will and curse that Voldemort fell when he did. It was a blessing that no one could step into his place and leash his followers." 

"We were not losing."

"Eight of your Order members and three aurors were killed between Orion's death and that Halloween. You managed to kill _one_ Death Eater, who was a damn Ministry spy and Regulus disappeared off the face of the planet. And that's nothing on what happened to the Longbottoms or the countless muggles. The Ministry's Intelligence gathering was a joke because two of three of your father's apprentices were unable to step in and the third was on _maternity leave_. 

"The Dark Lord recruited grown adults from the most influential, wealthiest families that were raised under Grindalwald's shadow, raised to _fight,_ who then bullied their younger siblings and children into the fight. These are people raised to be charismatic leaders, to be able to think and stand for themselves. He recruited generals and captains and they brought soldiers. Dumbledore recruited the outcast children who viewed him as a savior from their evil families because he won _one duel_. And now, you are relying on him again to save the world. He is at the end of his life. What happens when age takes him before then?"

Sirius' mouth opens and closes but nothing comes out. "Exactly. The Dark Lord knows exactly who to target, Sirius. He knows how to run a propaganda campaign discrediting his enemy and the child who 'defeated' him last time. He has always known. That's why Adam Zabini was run out of the country, why Orion and Henry were assassinated and why Abraxas was poisoned. The only four people in the world that had an ounce of the training that Brax's father poured into Orion and the influencing to back it were taken out within a year of each other. Two of his apprentices were killed and the third is rotting away in jail. Hardly anyone on your side is prepared and those who are willing to help, you aren't accepting it."

"Fine. Rosier can deal with the Ministry," Sirius snaps. 

"Oh, there was no doubt on that. And Nott will be sending several cease and desist letters. But the actual children should not be contacting your godson's lawyer when you're the one seeking custody of him," Arcturus says calmer now. He picks something off the sleeve. “You have a meeting with Bogrod, Miss Mai Nyguen and Miss Lisette Lebrun on Thursday, nine in the morning, at Gringotts.”

“I’m not going to talk to the goblins, Arcturus. There’s a thousand more important things to do than that.”

“Do not keep Miss Lebrun waiting."

"Why not? I'm sure whoever she is-"

"She's my cousin," Hermione inputs.

"-used to pureblood bastards-" Sirius stops in the middle of his tirade. Grey eyes turn to her. "She's what?"

"My cousin, Etta."

"There's two muggleborns in your-"

"No, just me." Sirius looks back at his grandfather.

"Why am I meeting a muggle at Gringotts with a lawyer and the Family account manager?"

"I thought it was preferable to the appointment I have with Lucas Nott. Nguyen will have paperwork for you to be added back into the family as Heir then you will be with Lebrun as Bogrod gives her a tour of the Vaults," Arcturus answers. "It won't be difficult. Bring Lupin if you want. You just have to be there."

"Why is a muggle getting a tour by the account manager?" Sirius asks scowling.

"Don't discriminate."

"She's an accountant," Hermione reminds him. "Remember, she was going through Brax's accounts? I think she finished sometime last week."

"What are you and Nott doing?" he asks his grandfather.

"Meeting at Azkaban. Rabastan Lestrange requested an appointment with Augustus Longbottom. She doesn't wish to go on the chance she may see his brother or Bellatrix. You're welcome to take that appointment instead." Sirius glares at him. "No? Then don't be late meeting Miss Lebrun. And attempt to conduct yourself better than the Malfoy boy."

"I can conduct myself better than a teenager."

"I was talking about Draco's father." Arcturus addresses Rigal. "I have nothing else. I believe you had a secondary reason to be here?"

The specialist blinks then pats his robe's pockets. "Oh, yeah, for Granger." He pulls a small wooden black box from his upper right pocket and floats it over to her. "Someone, I assume Mor or Bill, put you on the 'family status' list at the MAS. Adam upgraded you to a high risk which means you get one of these cool little bracelets."

"Is it a parole bracelet?" Hermione asks sarcastically. "Am I not allowed to leave an area of land?" She opens the box. Inside is a thicker woven bracelet than what Rigal is wearing, about an inch and a half wide, with a metal loop clasp. The black threads almost gleam in the candlelight and the silver border does. Between the border are little pink or white roses but opposite of the clasp is a yellow lion. She glances up at him. "Rosier roses and Gryffindor lion? That's really subtle."

He shrugs, hands stuck in his pockets. "Don't look at me. Adam just passed it off to me. I doubt your cousin's boyfriend had anything to do with it. The Rosier girls and Delacour sisters are spending the summer at the Zabini Villa so best guess is one of them weaved it when they were poking around. Adam's grandson has a green and silver one the younger Rosier made over the winter holidays." He brings his hands out and sticks a finger under his own bracelet. "Mine was made by this kid that's like a niece when she was eleven. Weavers' magic is superstitiously important." 

Hermione nods. She'd read about weaver's magic in one of the books on the Old Ways that Cal had bought her that day in the Market. It was the magic of home and family. The Weavers (which was a title, not a family name) were the ones who made the Invisibility cloaks and protective clothes. Everyone could do a bit of Weaver magic while they spun wool and cloth. Young girls would give each other and their intendeds weaved bracelets out of affection. It had caught on with muggles as well since it was cheap and most girls could do weavings. Now school kids did them on the playground.

"I remember from my muggle school that if you made best friend bracelets and one of them snapped, you'd stop being best friends," she comments, playing with the end thread loop. "I assume it's from some magic protection?"

"A mix of Weaver and Circle magic. These in particular are meant to be broken however," he says. "Once you put it on, a charm locks into place. If you take it off, with the clasp, it'll go dormant. For bathing and stuff, if you're worried about it getting damaged. They're pretty hardy though, should last the year before you'll be issued a new one or the charms are updated. The clasp itself is charmed to break if you yank on it. Then an alert is sent to the MAS and a Specialist or more will be at your location. Within five minutes but probably sooner."

"So if I'm kidnapped or something?" Hermione guesses. "I think Harry needs this more."

He gives her a smile. "Oh, probably, but I think the assumption is that you'll be right behind him anyways. You know, going after someone you think it's trying to steal the Philosopher's stone or after a convicted murderer or after a different convicted murderer who just had a successful plot to bring back the dead Dark Lord. Any of those situations, break the clasp and one of us will be with you."

"So, who are specialists? Like you?" she asks.

"Probably. You're high risk, like Blaise and his cousins or one of the Rosier or Delacours. So the top or senior agents will respond. Myself, Morgana Nott or Bill Weasley are the most likely to respond. It's a portkey destination site so anti-apparition wards aren't an issue either." He clears his throat and drops into a more professional cadence. "This is not a toy nor something to show off to your friends. This artifact is for emergencies only. Emergencies that are possibly fatal or high chance of injury or you are being kidnapped. I have been instructed by Lord Malfoy _and_ Lord Zabini to inform you that this is not a blanket permission to 'be a gods be damned Gryffindor' and run into danger. Nor should you 'make this a competition with Rion, Thomas and Cléa's stupid bet' which I have no idea what that means."

"Oh, it's probably when they were hunting escaped Nazis and Grindelwald supporters in South America," Hermione answers easily. Etta had written to confirm that their grandmother _had_ been the muggle Abraxas Malfoy threatened to wed. "They must have had a running bet or something."

"But your grandmother is…" Remus trails off.

"A muggle, yes. I wonder if that means Etta finally told her and my aunt and uncle about magic." She hadn’t mentioned but Etta had a job and life and was an _adult_. Hermione was beginning to think that maybe if purebloods had real jobs, they wouldn’t be such bastards. There wouldn’t be time for it. Of course, she noticed the same issue for muggle nobles and rich people too. “I would love to go see the monument to Vincent Duc de Trefle-Picques while we’re skiing in the Pyrenees this winter.”

“I don’t believe Miss Lebrun is invited to that trip any longer,” Arcturus informs her. Hermione looks at him confused. “I believe your aunt and she are no longer on speaking terms as she refused to break-up with the ‘devil-worshipper’ and repent her sins. There was mention of priests.” 

She sighs. “Yeah, no, that makes sense. Aunt Marie’s family is _very_ Catholic.” She makes a sour face at the ceiling. “It's probably best I skipped the ski trip anyways. I’ll probably have to brew some advanced potion or stop Harry from accepting potentially cursed gifts or standing in front of mirrors or something to that effect.” And to herself, she mutters, “At least Voldemort respects the exam schedule.”

“Hermione, what the hell?” Ron asks while Harry loses it. It's the first time since May that Hermione has heard him laugh more than a chuckle. 

“We-we have to write Voldemort,” Harry says through his own laughter. “Thanking him for respecting my education.” It was nice to hear.

Hermione heaves an overly dramatic sigh. “Really, Harry? We don’t have his address.” He just grins at her and she returns it. “We’ll have to take out an ad in the Prophet.”

“Alright, we need to leave before I have to report that she’s planning on antagonizing the Dark Lord,” Rigal says to Lord Black. “If that gets back to her cousin, I’m sure she’ll be transferred to one of the other schools then we’ll be forced to listen to Blaise to complain about losing his favorite study partner.”

Ron wipes around to look at her. “You study with _Zabini_? Why? He’s a _snake_.”

“Oh honestly Ron,” Hermione says rolling her eyes. “He’s my partner in Runes and we have arthmancy together. Technically, we also study with Malfoy and Nott. Only they sit down the table from us and I pretend like they aren’t there while Blaise double checks our answers to them.”

“Their dads are Death Eaters,” he sputters.

“Yes, I know,” she answers simply. “They both get punished when they score lower than me. Hence why we limit our interactions.” He’s still gaping at her so she turns her exasperation on Harry. “ _How_ did _Ron_ end up being the _sensible_ one?”

He’s still smiling back at her. “Must be because he’s a Gryffindor and we’re stuck between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw for you and Slytherin for me.”

Hermione blinks but blurts out, “Oh, the hat wanted to put you in Slytherin too?” He blinks back in surprise. “What? Several people now have called me the most clever witch our age, Harry. Honestly, I’m the one who solved Professor Snape’s riddle in first year _and_ the basilisk conundrum in second _and_ how to free Sirius, _legally_ , plus only a few weeks ago I’m the one who realized that Moody wasn’t Moody. And you’re always forgetting that I was the one who orchestrated your stealing from Snape’s supply closet for the Polyjuice potion in second year so we could sneak into the Slytherin Common Room and interrogate Draco about the Slytherin Heir. Of _course_ I was almost placed in Slytherin.”

“Oh, well, me too,” Harry says brightly. “I had to beg it to put me somewhere else. What about you?”

“Oh, it said I would find greatness in Slytherin or make great friends in Gryffindor,” she says dismissively. “I told him that I’d like some friends because I’d be able to make my own greatness if they were truly my friends.”

“How’s that working out for you?” Ron huffs.

“She radicalized the Rosier girls for House-Elf rights so both their grandfather and the Malfoy Lord dismissed the House-elves in their employment and hired them on with wages,” Arcturus drawls. “And somehow made enemies with the Minister of Magic at 14. I think she’s rather achieving both of those things.”

“Thank you sir. It wasn't all that hard; Mr. Malfoy seems to do all his thinking for him." Her eyes drift to Kreacher still prostate at his feet. "Speaking of House-Elves."

"Pick your battles, young lady," he warns. "This one won't welcome freedom."

"No sir. I just thought he might welcome, er, a change of scenery." And then Mrs. Black goes wild in the hallway. 

Snape sweeps in to the tune of, " _Filthy half-blood. Shame of your ancestors. Son of a whore."_

"Black, shut your mother up," Snape orders. Sirius grins and relaxes back against the table.

"Aw, Snape, you'll have to be more clear," Sirius says and waves a hand at his grandfather. Snape goes _absolutely_ still. "You ever get the chance to meet the noble Lord Arcturus Black?"

"I'll just go shut her up, shall I?" Tonks suggests edging towards the hall.

"Go take care of that with her," Arcturus orders Rigal.

The Specialist gives him a cheerful grin and drops his wand into his hand from the wrist holster. "Sure thing," he says, starting to follow Tonks.

"Without burning us alive," the Lord adds. Rigal gives a little disappointed sigh and stops by the counter to take up a knife instead.

"Always so discriminate, you burn down one building. So you're Dora huh?" Then they're through the door.

"Do you have need of an elf?" he asks Sirius, completely ignoring Snape's pale face. His grandson shrugs.

"Take the little monster. He only ever listened to that bitch or Reg anyways. Hardly even listened to dad." So Lord Black orders Kreacher away, to Casa Beltxo. The shrieks from the hallway abruptly end and Rigal strolls in carrying a rolled up rug- no, canvas, and flipping the kitchen knife with one hand.

"Your daughter-in-law seemed like she'd be a right joy to have at some of the parties I've been to over the years," he says. "I don't think I've been called a mudblood worm so many times in one go."

"You would have liked her father and youngest brother then. Her niece as well."

Hermione watches something a little darker overtake his bland features. "Oh yes. The niece. Mor has told me all about the niece. Anything else you need dealt with while I'm here?" Sirius almost jumps at the address to him.

"Did you just cut her out of the frame?" he asks instead of answering.

Rigal stops flipping the knife and points it at Sirius. "Your loser of an ex-best friend stabbed me back in May, you know that? I was in the hospital for three weeks, middle of muggle territory. He tried to _bombarda_ an entire street again with Bill right there too."

"Seems to be his signature when he's cornered," Sirius says disgusted. 

Rigal smiles at him, toothy and hungry. "Yes. I'll know for next time. Can't wait." He looks to Lord Black. "All done, sir? I'd like to take this back to the Archivists. The spells are impressive." 

"Anything else you wish to steal?" Arcturus drawls.

"Is that an invitation to peruse your property for interesting artifacts?" he asks then gives Sirius a flirty smile. "Or pursue your grandson's heart?" The Black Lord actually makes a sound of disgust before storming out the Floo. "Wow, he's actually annoyed. Usually I can get away with that for a lot longer."

"You often flirt with his grandson?" Snape drawls. "Here I thought the other one was just an empty grave." He flinches back when the knife is slashed in his direction, though at least fifteen feet are between him and Rigal.

"That was a very nasty thing to say, Severus Tobias Snape. I'm taking the knife." And then he's gone.

"He makes you a bit jumpy, Severus," Remus needles. "Have a history with Mr. Leonzio?"

"He has a reputation," Tonks answers from the hall doorway. She's leaning there, arms crossed, like she'd been watching the show. "Rigal Leonzio is the MAS's go to _specialist_ and he trained their other top two agents: Morgana Nott and William Weasley. Mor once told me that the two of them equal one of him, that's why they're a pair and he's usually alone."

"Mor was almost an auror, wasn't she?" Hermione asks.

Tonks nods. "We went into training together and we almost scored the same, her being a bit better in dueling and me in concealment but we were the first two in six years to pass the tests." Her eyes turn from green to Black grey. "Neither of us was accepted in. Moody refused to let both of us in. Which, fair enough, her dad _is_ a Death Eater and my mum's sister is why he's got a wood leg, nevermind that Sirius was an auror and look what was assumed to have happened. But Mor had an absolute fit about it since he'd been the one to bring her to St. Mungo's after Nott tried to kill her while she was running away."

"The scar on her back?" Hermione blurts out. 

"Oh, uh, yeah. She's shown you that?"

"We went to the beach. She said I could know about that or the tattoo. I picked the tattoo because Cal had the matching one." Tonks' surprised face tells her this was _news_. "Er, she said it was alright and told me all about what, well, who it symbolized."

"She told you about Evan and Regulus?" the auror asks slowly. "And Cal knows that?"

"Um, yes?"

But Tonks is already asking, "you're the one who sent Fiona all those pictures, aren't you?"

"Oh, Sirius said it was okay. I hope no one was upset."

"We are, me and Cal." Hermione feels dreadful all of the sudden. She supposed seeing old pictures of believed dead relatives was- "No one will stop teasing us how fit our uncles were. Mor keeps saying 'damn, I'd forgotten about that crush I had on Reg.' And Bill's piled on about how Evan was the one who got Charlie interested in dragons but he'd been Bill's bi awakening. I think Fleur and Etta have been teasing Cal unmerciless too and asking Luke all sorts of 'what were they like in school? Can we see your yearbook, they were both on Team right?' kind of questions. I can't even retaliate on account of them _both_ being mum's cousins and Regulus being Molly's cousin too. Nevermind getting back at Fleur, 'yeah, your uncle's real fit, you know, my uncle-in-law, _Lucius Malfoy_.'"

Everyone seems to have relaxed enough to chuckle at that. Hermione gives her an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. I just thought Fiona and Elian probably hadn't seen nice photographs of their uncle. No one was _actually_ upset right?"

"No, I don't think so. I think even old Corin appreciates it. He had the house-elves collect all of Cal's and the girls' things from the Rosier Manor in Lancashire before he boarded it up after the Ministry's raid. Any copies of photos like that are either still there or in evidence."

"Oh… so how did you become an auror?"

Tonks looks thoughtful before she shrugs. "Not really sure how Mor managed it to be honest. She did tell me that she'd only been accepted to training because Luke asked on her behalf. But she had a fit at Moody in the middle of the DMLE before storming off to Romania and I got hired two days later. About three days before Moody finally retired. I think Charlie introduced Mor to Bill and he recommended her to the MAS training instructors, none of whom are purebloods or from the UK, so they brought her on just on her scores and auror training and Bill's recommendation. Brax and Adam don't have much to do with the hiring at MAS unless there's someone they're wanting to bring on. Now Mor and Bill are partners, except when they have to be assigned separately and Leonzio works with one of them."

"But wait," Ginny says. "We visited Bill in Egypt. He was working with Gringotts."

"Gringotts, or rather, the Goblin Nation works closely with the MAS," Tonks explains. "Gringotts contracts curse breakers from the MAS and Bill had been assigned that case. I think Mor and Leonzio worked a retrieval case in Turkey and he ended up breaking his arm so that's why she was in France for Hermione to meet. This past April, Bill was assigned to break the wards on a Dolohov property in, erm, Germany I think. Thus why Mor would've been working with Leonzio going after Pettigrew. They keep telling me to quit the aurors and join MAS, better pay and benefits." 

An owl soars into the room then and almost lands in the mashed potatoes in front of Hermione. She can see her name on the creamy white envelope. 

"Who's that from?" Ron asks, looking at the bird in suspicious. "Krum?"

"Oh honestly Ron," she says, extracting the letter. In the end, it's not a full letter but an invitation. "Oh, it's from Cal. He wants to have lunch with me at Le Ventus at the same time Sirius is with Etta and Mai."

===

"If he tries anything, you can use magic," Sirius warns as he Apparates Hermione and him just outside Gringotts.

"Cal isn't going to try anything," she sighs for the ninth time that day. First Ron and Harry, then Sirius, then Mr. Weasley, the twins had spoken up and of course Molly. Remus had stopped by and finally, Sirius again. "You be nice to Etta, please. She's very sweet."

"And the Rosiers aren't so-"

"Cal hates Death Eaters," Hermione interrupts him. "And he's afraid of them. He's dating a muggle and his sisters were well versed in the muggle world in France. So just chill out and be nice to my cousin." They pass into the bank itself and she zeros in on Cal and Etta instantly.

Etta is in an emerald colored button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up just past her elbows. Silver gleams on her wrist, with jeweled roses in amethyst. She has on black slacks and professional pumps. Her honey highlighted hair is crown braided around her head. There's matching hair pins of amethyst roses among the bits.

Next to her, Cal is in his customary white shirt, waistcoat combo. This time it's emerald and his pants are black. He's submitted himself to the rigors of British fashion and has an over robe draped over his arm. His curls have been tamed as well, instead of left to be free. But with his face turned towards Etta, listening attentively, Hermione is slammed with how blind she must have been not to recognize the relation with Evan. They look so alike.

Next to her, Sirius has come to a stop. He's gripping her upper arm a bit hard she’s worried there might be bruises later. She looks up at him, seeing that he's a bit more pale, staring at the couple like they're more ghosts than the ones at Hogwarts.

"Sirius?" she says touching her fingers to the ones on her arm. He shivers and rips his eyes away to meet her’s. Ghosts linger in the grey depths, like what she thinks she was supposed to have seen in the crystal balls in Trelawney's classroom. 

It takes him twice to swallow whatever he's thinking, to shake it away. "Sorry," he says. She can hear the waiver under the word. "His uncle looked at my brother like that too."

"They look a bit alike, don't they?" she adds gently. He nods stiffly. And last time Sirius had seen _Evan_ Rosier alive, was when he was subsequently killed. 

"Your cousin is very pretty," he says. She looks him over and wonders if she should have insisted Remus join him for the appointment. But Remus was at Number 12, while Sirius was busy here. 

"Hermione!" Etta's voice calls through the room. Hermione turns away from the man and smiles at her cousin, dragging him along. She gets a big hug from Etta. "You are getting so big now! And your hair is a bit tamer too!"

"I've started using a new conditioner," she explains and realizes that she is taller now. She's at Etta's chin where last summer, she'd been under her shoulder. "You look so nice today! Very professional. I'm not used to not seeing you without those designer dresses."

"Oh, yes, I learned not to wear those to the Goblin Nation anymore," she says, patting her pants. Then Hermione is pulled into a tight hug by her boyfriend.

"Hey kid," Cal says warmly as she returns the hug. "How's your summer going?"

"Good!" she says when he lets her go. "Better than Harry's."

"That's good. Hello, Sirius," Cal greets wrapping an arm back around Etta's waist. "Etta, this is Sirius Black, Archie's oldest grandson."

"Mione has told me all about you." She beams and sticks out her hand to Sirius. He looks a little startled at the warmth of her greeting. "Lisette Lebrun, Archie's hired me to audit your family's accounts. I thought you'd like to take a look at the Vaults with me as I hope we can work together on the direction you wish to see the Black Family wishes to go in the future."

"I- how I want it to go?" Sirius asks surprised. "My grandfather is the Lord. Not me."

"Key word being future," Etta says, still smiling at him. "Archie is interested in your input and liked what I did with Brax's family accounts. I spoke with the Delacours, and his grandchildren on where they wish to see their family."

"You talked to Draco?" Hermione asks surprised.

"We had a few letter correspondences during the school year," she answers diplomatically. Away from Lucius, of course. "Archie is also introducing me to your cousin Andromeda and I already know Dora." She smiles at Sirius again. "I hope this meeting is the first of many, professionally and personally. Hermione speaks highly of you and I know her Harry is your- oh." 

Sirius has darted a hand out and yanks her around so she’s standing closer to Cal. It brings the muggle woman out of range of the heavy shoulder bump Lucius Malfoy sends into Sirius’ shoulder. Hermione turns to watch his continued stalk out of the bank. He looks apocalyptically angry. Sirius doesn’t look much happier and tries to turn to follow. Hermione grabs his left arm and forces it plus his wand, back into his pocket.

“Bitter bastard,” Cal says and it's loud enough it echoes through the hushed bank foyer. Malfoy stops mid-stride. Several customers look around, even several goblin heads pop up from desks. Hermione sees Lucius’ hand flex on his cane but he keeps walking out of the door. When she looks back around, Cal’s eyes are icy blue.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Etta says, fixing her sleeve. She gives Sirius a pretty smile. “He was just in a meeting with Mai Nguyen and Mr. Swingstaff.” And _this_ is rather loud as well. Hermione sees a plump woman in all pink under a black ministry robe with a pink hat, pursing her lips and looking them all over. The goblin she was talking to sneers at the woman who looks disgusted to be talking to him in turn. 

“Are you still at war with Mr. Malfoy?” Hermione asks at a normal level. 

Cal shrugs. “Might just be that he found out Brax has put him on an allowance and revoked access to Draco’s trust vault. Opening Draco a line of credit at approved stores for his school supplies and such.” He checks his watch and smiles at Etta. “Mione and I had to get to our reservation, babe. You okay with Sirius until Mai gets out here too?”

“Of course,” Etta says and kisses his cheek. “Off on your secret brunch with my cousin.” She winks at Hermione who almost stops her blush. “Make sure he buys you lots of books afterwards, Mione. Sirius and I will be some time.”

“Meet at the ice cream place by 1?” Cal suggests. “Then I’ll take Sirius to lunch to talk about legal matters and you two can go do whatever.”

“Sounds perfect,” Hermione says before Sirius can protest. Cal holds out an arm to her. “Have fun with the goblins, Sirius, Etta.” And then her and Cal are on the street. “Is it safe to leave Etta alone?”

“She’s with Sirius and Mai will be right along,” Cal assures her, guiding her towards Le Ventus which was on a portion of Diagon Alley she never needed to visit. “Thank you for coming to lunch with me.”

“Honestly, I mostly wanted to get out of the house,” she admits. He gives his name to the matra’d and they’re quickly seated. She’s really not dressed for the obviously rich restaurant. Thankfully, she’s worn one of her school button downs and borrowed a skirt from Ginny and didn’t just come in a tee and jeans. “It's sort of stifling. I’m used to being able to wander way more but with what’s happening, they don’t want me out alone.”

“Elian and Gabby are under chaperon conditions too,” he says. “Grandfather wants to put Fiona under them too but she’s an adult and graduated.”

“What’s she going to do?” Hermione asks as their drinks come.

“She starts training at MAS in September. Fleur as well. Fi’s going into the more research part and Fleur is going field training. Do you have a plan yet? This is the year you have to start picking careers, at Hogwarts right?”

“Yes but I’m not sure yet. Advisement is after the first semester. I want to talk to my Head of House before that.” They chat about her top choices: Law, Unspeakable or Potions Master. His vote is law, of course, and offers to let her intern at Notts’ with him next summer, which is what Percy had ended up doing when the Ministry fell through. He still wasn’t talking to his family but Arthur mentioned that Luke told him that Percy was doing excellent. Cal mentions that, while he thinks Hermione would be excellent at it, Potions Master would probably bore her in the long term. Unspeakable was probably the hardest and he also added that it was the same thing the Archivists at the Magical Arcane Sector did, but paid less and with more government oversight.

They chat about how their year had gone and what actually happened to Harry with the dementors. What his sisters had done during the year. And just general chattiness all through brunch. Hermione, of course, also had noticed Mr. Nott eating with some other snotty looking men in a far corner. They all stopped talking whenever someone got close to the table. Then there was Daphne Greengrass dining with a woman who must be her mother. Daphne kept staring over her mother’s shoulder at Callum and her, looking fascinated. She was sitting with the Rosier Heir and people apparently noticed that.

“So, I invited you out for a reason,” Callum says after their desserts are served. Hermione looks up from her tiramisu. 

"I figured," she admits and puts her fork to the side. "Is this the official telling off and warning about being careful?" He blinks until she rolls her eyes and jerks her head in Mr. Nott's direction. "You know, after the Third Task?"

"Oh. Oh! No," he says shaking his head. "No, I'm sure you've been warned enough and you're smart enough to recognize the seriousness. I mean, if you want to transfer schools…" She shakes her head. 

"I told Barty Crouch Jr. that I would protect Harry," she says and remembers the rage at her words. She wonders what Cal would say if she mentioned everything she had said that night. "So if it's not about the war, then what's up?"

Cal actually looks nervous suddenly. He sips his sparkling water. Hermione watches fascinated as his ears actually go red. Finally he clears his throat, then blurts out, "Marriage."

She blinks. "Er, Cal, I'm Hermione. We don't look that much alike. I'm _a_ lot younger too. Flattered but creeped out."

"What- no, sorry. I want to marry your cousin," he says. Yeah, that was a blush spreading up his throat too. "Hermione Granger, I am asking your permission to marry Lisette."

"Cal, I'm her _younger cousin_ ," she says. He looks a little panicked. Like when Harry had to dance at the Yule Ball. "Of course, you should totally ask her to marry you. You guys are so good together and you obviously adore her."

He relaxes. "Thank you. I do love her. She… she makes everything shine."

"Right," she agrees. "So why are you asking _me_ permission? You should be asking Uncle Jean or Mémé Cléa."

"Oh, I asked Cléa already. She said yes," he says happily. "And threatened to put my wand somewhere inappropriate if I hurt her. Erm, Etta currently isn't speaking with her parents."

"Oh, Lord Black kind of mentioned that."

"Right, yes. We told them about magic and Marie had- well, she freaked out," Cal explained awkwardly. "Badly. She and Etta had a row about it. This was Easter. Oh, we kept your name out of it so you should be okay skiing this winter. But yeah, your aunt and uncle…"

"Cal, I don't think I could go have fun skiing with people that'll hate me if they knew the real me," she points out. "I sort of already have to deal with that in the wizarding world for being muggleborn and the muggle world for being black. I've already decided to stay at Hogwarts with Harry anyways. So Cléa was okay with the magic stuff?"

He looks exasperated. "It's as we feared at the World Cup. She was the muggle Brax talked about. Him and Adam, and Arete Delacour too, are ecstatic about it. They meet up at least once a week. Even my grandfather's joined in and Tia Prewett's lowered herself off the Black high horse when they get together for cards. I think they were planning on her joining Samhain too."

Hermione plays with her fork. "Um, did you guys mention me to her?"

"No, Etta wanted to make sure you were okay with that. However, we are talking about my grandfather and 'great-uncles' so I'm sure she already knows. Brax wouldn't shut up about you after meeting you in Hogsmeade."

"He was nice and Lord Black wasn't terrible either. You can officially tell her," she concedes. "But you still haven't told me why you asked _me_ permission."

Cal stares off for a moment before sighing. "We'll have to have two weddings. Even if Marie doesn't come around, Etta still has muggle friends and grandparents. My family will, of course, attend both but there's certain rites and traditions that, as an ancient family, myself and my spouse will have to perform." His eyes meet her. "Things that you'll have to do, as her only magical family member. I mean, she already wants you as her maid of honor but in the Magical wedding, its a bit more…"

"Magical?" she offers.

He chuckles. "Yeah. I've already thought of the bits I want to strip out and that we'll have to alter because of impossibility. But there's certain ones that'll have to stay in." He gives her a smile. "You'd be a bit like a maid of honor crossed with the father of the bride, giving her away. You mind if we skip me giving you a bride price? That always creeps me out."

"Me too but how much are we talking?" she teases. He chuckles. "Do you have a ring? Can I see it? Wait-" she tries to remember. She knew Molly wore a simple gold band but Narcissa's only ring had been on the wrong hand and was a family signet ring. Of the pureblood men, only Arthur had a for certain _wedding_ ring. Most of them either wore no rings or multiple, sort of gaudy ones. "Do wizarding families do rings?"

"Some do. Mine does. Um, there's one in my vault that I think would look great on her. Not my parents," Cal adds quickly. He looks at her plate. "Finish your dessert and we can go look at it. See if you agree with me."

Hermione had seen the Weasleys' vault of just a handful of coins last year. She had seen Harry's vault, with its glittering pile of gold and silver and copper. Neither took her breath away. At the sheer sparkle in the Rosier Vault, she was a bit light headed.

That could have been the cart ride.

The Vault was organized, or at least someone had tried to organize. There were glass cases stacked on each other, drawers that pulled out like at a jeweler's. But there were also strings of necklaces hung around knobs and tiaras and crowns sat on level spaces. A few decorative knives, and just so many display boxes.

"It's like Aladdin's cave without the coins," she says in slight awe.

"This is just some of the better jewelry we own. Personal pieces or things we can safely give away," Cal says stepping over a stack of display boxes. "There's at least two more Vaults with uglier shit or cursed. You see anything you like, feel free."

"Oh, I couldn't," she says following him farther in. "This is all so… much."

"Too much," he offers. "So if something catches your fancy, let me know. Even if it's for a gift." They arrive at one of the drawer cases. Up close, Hermione can see bracelets and necklaces, matching earrings and rings and even a full golden glove of rubies. 

"That's hideous," she says about the glove.

"Agreed. I think it was gifted to my great-aunt as a wedding present," Cal chuckles as he fiddles with a drawer latch. Finally it pulls out. Dozens of sets of rings glitter up at them in purple velvet honey combs. Each comb held three matching rings, two wedding bands and an engagement ring. He rests his fingers on one of the boxes, silver bands and the engagement ring had deep purple gems wrapped in vine filigree. "This set my mother commissioned for my arrangement with Mor. The gems match her eyes and the vines are the Rosier bits. I showed Mor once when we were buying her school supplies. She thinks it's ugly."

"I think it's beautiful. They all are for the most part." He smiles and touches another set then the one next to it. 

"These are for Fiona and Elian, if they marry a family that doesn't do rings." He runs down a few more: his parents', Elian's parents', taken by the Ministry and Corin demanded them back. Tonks' grandmother's and Sirius' uncle’s, never worn, the Blacks did not hold with being marked as another's. His own grandmother's gold band and diamond engagement ring, sitting lonely without Corin's to keep them company. Hermione points to a set of golden bands etched with what looked like scales. Sitting between them, the engagement ring was almost a snake, except it wasn't. It was a dragon with a glittering rose colored opal orb in its mouth and blue sapphire eyes.

"Whose this for? It's a lot different than the rest," she comments.

"Narcissa', I believe. My great-grandfather had it commissioned," Cal says after a moment.

"Mr. Malfoy refuse it?" She sees something angry spark over his face. "He's a dick."

"No. Well, yes but so was her father. Lucius was the second pick. Actually, he was engaged to Molly, I think but long before Hogwarts. Brax broke that off personally, I believe," he explains examining the ring. "No, Narcissa was the third daughter so she got a little more leeway. Bellatrix and Andromeda had better prospects, in the Goyle and Dolohov Heirs. Goyle turned out to be a squib, not your classmate's father, a brother I think. And Andromeda took off with Ted. Grandfather actually attended the wedding and gave them the rings commissioned for her. They wear them."

"Grandfather had these commissioned when Narcissa told him who she wanted to marry, around 14 I think. It was a match he approved. Cygnus, her father, didn't approve and made sure they broke up. She married Lucius. When offered the rings, she said to lock them away where he could never take them and refused _any_ Rosier jewels." 

"That's so sad," Hermione says softly. "It's terrible she couldn't marry who she wanted."

"It makes it worse that Regulus Black was slated to marry Persephone Malfoy, Lucius' younger sister. She had a bit of the sight so Brax kept her close. He wanted Sirius or Regulus to marry her because he trusted Orion, best friends and all. Because Lucius and Narcissa married, that arrangement was broken too. She married Xenophillia Lovegood but died in front of their young daughter. I think she's in the year below you."

"Who was your uncle supposed to marry?" Hermione asks looking for the rings that might have been Evan's. 

"Excuse me," Cal says waving her hands off the drawer. He shuts it and opens the one right below it. Same set up, but only half the honeycombs are filled. "So, officially, Evan wasn't arranged to anyone. Grandfather gave him the choice, pureblood or muggleborn or no one, like Alphard Black."

"Because he was in love with Sirius' brother," she states, eyes zeroing on the most likely candidates. Most of the other rings had been one men's size and two women. This was just two rings, both larger than a typical woman's. She was pretty sure they were made of platinum, with roses and vines etched into the bands. It's the two Leo symbols around a black diamond that really sell it. She could see one of these gleaming on Evan's hand. 

"And he was the favorite," he agrees. "But, let's stop talking about doomed lovers." He picks one of the boxes out of there and rests it on the top glass of the display case. "These were my great-great grandparents'. A love match too. Do you think Etta will like them?"

Hermione takes in the rings. "Yeah," she says amazed. "Oh Cal, they're gorgeous." He's relieved and thankful and places them right into a velvet cinch bag, then his pocket.

"Alright, so," he says cheerfully. "Ginny Weasley's birthday is soon right?"

"Last week, actually," Hermione corrects as he goes to another case and opens that box.

"Ah, missed it but she's 14? Come pick out a bracelet for her. These are all Weasley pieces my family bought off them when Arthur's great-uncle was trying to pay off debts."

Unsurprisingly, they're all gold and ruby. Hermione picks Ginny a tasteful bracelet and necklace combo that has a ruby eyed dove on them. Cal packs them away into velvet pouches as well. He makes Hermione look through other drawers until she finds a pretty silver bracelet that has a pretty citron rose charm for herself.

"For memory," she says, letting him clip it on her right wrist. "I'm going to need it for OWLs."

===

It's early morning, as the sun has just greyed the London sky, that Hermione slips onto the roof outside of Regulus’ window. No one else should be awake and anyone that might, would be hectically getting ready for the trip to King’s Cross or bracing themselves for it or thanking the gods for this being the last day a bunch of nosy, noisy teenagers were invading their HQ.

She kneels in front of the window and says the password to the secret compartment. It springs open. She reaches in for the scrolls, placing them into the expanding backpack Cal bought her two years previously. Then she takes out the book and opens to the first page. 

It's a journal. From the half-written letter on the desk in the room, she has to assume this was Regulus’ journal. It's not enchanted like Tom Riddle Jr.’s had been but it _is_ half coded. The same code that Evan had drilled into her head during the month they both were in Uffington, before she came to London and him to Rome. _Just in case,_ he’d said, _just in case you need me for something._ It looked to start in Regulus’ sixth year. The decoded parts are boring school bits, general boys’ getting Up To Something with Evan, Crouch and Lestrange, a few mentions of working with Snape in potions or spells and incandescent _rage_ at Sirius. Even two years out from his brother’s run away. 

The bits in code were about the Mark. Were about his hate and disgust at his cousins and their husbands. His fear. His self-hate: _It is as Sirius and Mother have always said, I am weak, I am soft, I have been made into the Monster of Frankenstein. My soul is cracked by taking the soul of a muggle._

Hermione hesitates but puts the journal into her bag. There might be some important information in it, eventually. If he put it there for Evan to find, it had to be important.

Then she noticed the folded paper on the bottom of the compartment. It's just parchment, just like the one sitting on his desk inside. She picks it up and unfolds the trifold.

 _Evan,_ Regulus had written, _I’m sorry. What I have to do will bring the homunculi we call master back to mortality. Evan, I’m so sorry._

She tucks that into the back of the journal. Then she closes up the secret compartment and slips back in, backpack in hand. It's just as she’s double checking that things are set, hand steadying her on the desk, that the door creaks open. Sirius is leaning in, of course. 

“You can take the books,” he says while she tries to come up with an excuse. It's five am. 

"Oh um, thanks," she says sheepishly. "I was just checking that I didn't leave anything behind, actually."

"Right," he says, clearly not believing her. His attention snags on the pictures and they stand in silence as the room slowly gets lighter. 

"We'll be back for Christmas," Hermione offers after almost seven minutes. Her voice makes him physically jolt, like he'd been sleeping, like he'd been dreaming the dreams of ghosts.

"What?" he says. "I thought you were going skiing with your parents."

"I- we, they're going with Etta's parents who aren't happy she's dating a wizard. Mum said she'd have a talk with them but best I not be there," she explains. "And, um, I'm still debating if I'm going to accept Cal's invitation to his family's Yule celebrations. Etta is going to be there but I don't really know the rest of them well. And I've never met Corin."

"Corin's a… decent guy," Sirius says carefully. "He outright denounced You-Know-Who after the war but I can't remember if he did during. Mostly he stayed in France after his wife's death. Around my fourth year and since Evan refused to transfer schools, he stayed in the UK with his older brothers. But Corin wasn't terrible. He was always very… separate from his sister, my aunt Druella, Tonks' grandmother. If the families were together, he'd be with Alphard and Tia."

"Do you think he also worked for, erm, Abraxas' father?"

"Maybe but unlikely," Sirius says shaking his head. "His great-aunt, Vinda Rosier, was one of Gellert Grindalwald's staunchest supporters, his right hand. Pollux Black, my other grandfather, made sure Cygnus married a Rosier for that reason. Dru and Cyg wholeheartedly supported You-Know-Who, threw Bella and Reggie parties when they were Marked. I know Corin is a few years older than my father but I'm not sure where his loyalties laid. I assume he was neutral enough Zabini and Malfoy trust his change of heart now."

"History of Magic would be a lot less useless if we learned about this stuff instead of the fifth Goblin Rebellion," she sighs.

"This isn't that useful for normal people," Sirius says shaking his head. "Only Old Families care about it and their hangers ons."

Hermione leans against the window sill. "Old Families which make up almost half the seats in the Wizengamot. I think that's extremely important to know. I think learning about actual wizarding conflicts and the reasons behind them could be extremely useful to muggleborns. We're already at a disadvantage in practical and theoretical magic but there's an entire social and economic structure that we don't know about until we trip into. You know how this world works so you think it's useless but I feel like I'm always one word away from failure, constantly."

She watches Sirius blink at her a few times. Like he's trying to recover from a camera flash. 

"You really remind me of someone when you talk like that," he says finally. "You aren't going to fail, Hermione. You're going to blow everyone else out of the air, disadvantages or not."

"I know but I work hard for the top position. I'm the only person that didn't come from a wizarding home in the top 10; the only non-pureblood in the top 5. Malfoy, Nott and Zabini are all just below me and Anthony Goldstein is right behind them." She sighs pushing off the window silly. "Anyways, I should go finish packing up and get the boys and Ginny up too. They're never ready."

Sirius lets her go. If he had persisted, she would have brought up the fact that every step she took felt like there were a thousand ghosts she was waking from their dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys. you have no idea how hard it is to not have everyone have pagers. People had pagers when this series was set! PC's and early internet existed. The well-off could totally have cellphones. Anyways, Luke, Cal and Mai all have home phones so that their office can reach them easily and securely. After all, owls and floo are notoriously unsecured. Plus Luke turned in dozens of Death Eaters and testified against many more. He doesn't have a hook up to the floo network at fucking all to his home. Neither does Cal. People can get in that way too easily.
> 
> Arcturus Black is canonically dead at this time but i needed a more adultier adult than Tom Riddle's dormmates to have an outside perspective. He's not against queer relationships; just likes testing people (aka Sirius got being an asshole from someone and I refuse to accept his mother). He and his wife, Sirius' and Molly's grandmother, Melania Macmillan, moved to the Continent when Sirius was a child. They did _not_ approve of Orion's and Walburga's marriage. Archie's favorite great-aunt, Iola (disowned, married muggle Bob Hitchens) was a good friend of Charles Darwin's wife and cousin, Emma. Iola told Archie all about inbreeding and backed it up with Darwin's own research (and letters about the likelihood that 4 generations of inbreeding between Darwin's family with Emma's family caused their children to have health problems, this is a real factual thing) and pointed right at the Gaunt family for wizardly proof. He 100 percent went to Orion's grave with the newspaper announcing Sirius' arrest for a 'told you so'. Archie also has a file somewhere of all of Dumbledore's war crimes and explicated photos from Summer Loving of 1899 so he can one day be like 'Dis you?'. I've seen 1927 being when Dumbledore started teaching at Hogwarts; Archie would've graduated in 1918 (and his younger siblings in the early/mid-20s). However, All of Archie's younger cousins would've been 6th years or below when Dumbeldore started teaching and I bet they were _fucking nightmares_ to teach. Throw in that Albus went to school with the previous generation and Abraxas' Father, who was already in the Intelligence field as Grindalwald was rising to power, would know his history with the hot ex-Durmstrang student? _Fucking nightmares_ , all of them. I'd hold a grudge against the whole family and when Sirius/Pettigrew happened, might've been like "Throw out the whole man" instead of defending Sirius.
> 
> Does you guys like Edith? I like Edith. Living 70 years next to the Blacks is going to tip anyone off about magic, especially if she babysat. #10 probably didn't notice when #12 disappeared but Edith was like 'They're back. I best bake some ginger snaps and get our son to come round and check that the shingles aren't loose.' She and Orion never had a fling, just friends. She did hook up with Henry Potter once, when all the proper adults were out and Orion agreed to babysit her 'brother' so her and Henry could sneak back into her house to bone. Orion once broke Adam's nose for daring to imply Edith's 'brother' was her child out of wedlock. _Everyone_ knows that Edith was a good proper young lady waiting for marriage and such a dear to take on her brother's care after their parents died.
> 
> Last note: Gellert Grindalwald and Vinda Rosier. I'll state up front, I haven't seen either Fantastic Beasts movie and I don't plan on it. I have a rough idea what happened but tbh, I don't like it. I saw Grindalwald more having a war to mirroring WWII and not... whatever the movies were doing. These two will come up again but if they match movie versions or not, I couldn't tell yah and I don't care to learn. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! I'm loving all your lovely comments.


	5. Hero of War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione asks the Slytherins for some back up against Umbridge and gets it. Harry Potter makes a connection, finally, and more Black Family Secrets are spilled at a hospital bedside. Hermione's lack of self-preservation catches up with her and poor Evan reaps the benefits of raising a rebel with too many causes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Year Five is finally here. Just like Book 5, this is where people are tortured and die.  
> Warnings from the top: Child Abuse (I.E. blood quills), torture, death. Nothing is super graphic! But the Battle of the Department of Mysteries is here. Can't get around it.
> 
> Thank you everyone for all the kudos and comments!
> 
> (Edit 2/2: add chapter title)

===

Doloras Umbridge was, by far, the worst teacher they had had. Even Lockhart was slightly more useful. At least they got to round up pixies in the first class. Even Barty Crouch Jr. let them cast spells (and terrorized both the children of Death Eaters and Neville; she _knew_ she should have told someone.) Even Quirrell _taught_. 

"It's sad," Hermione whispers to Harry, during a lesson. "That Voldemort really was a better teacher." Harry smothers his laugh into his palm.

It's after Dennis Creevey comes back from detention with a bloody hand that Hermione has to _do something_. She goes to Blaise, interrupting his study session with Malfoy and Nott again.

"What's our opinion on quills that carve lines into your hand and use your blood as ink?" she asks without preamble.

"Highly specific question and completely illegal," Theo answers without hesitation. "Only legal in blood contracts, 17 and above. Swearing fealty to a Lord or signing on as Lordship in traditional Old Families. Some _very_ traditional Families may require it during wedding ceremonies."

"So not 12 year olds at detention?" She asks. They all share looks.

"No, not naughty second years," Blaise confirms. "Who?"

"Dennis Creevey, among others." They share that look again before sending her off to fetch Dennis, and Colin. Dennis is still sniffily and hides shyly behind his brother. "It's alright, Dennis. They just want to see your hand."

"They're gonna laugh," he mutters.

"I promise we won't," Blaise says raising a hand. He gives Theo a look. The other boy sighs and presents his left hand. With his right, he taps the unblemished skin with his wand. Just like that, lines of silvery white scars rise up in his tan skin. It reads 'Heir'. He then taps his left hand with his wand and 'Nott's' raises up. 

Hesitantly, Dennis presents his own hand. The skin is still raw and pink and cut open from last night's detention. It's faint but Hermione just makes out 'I will not' before he hides it back in his pocket. No one laughs.

"Here," Draco says, digging into his bag. He comes out with a vial of murky white liquid and is handed to Colin. "Put it on him every four hours and don't wash it off. It'll speed up the healing and smooth any scars."

"Why didn't he use it?" Colin asks, looking at Theo suspiciously.

"He wasn't allowed to," Blaise answers when Theo keeps his gaze on his papers. "Run along little cubs and don't mention Prince Snake helped you."

“Thank you," Dennis squeaks before his brother jerks him away. Hermione glares at the three of them.

"It's not just Dennis. Everyone that has detention with Umbridge-"

"Potter?" Draco asks bluntly.

"Of course. His says 'I mustn't tell lies'," she says hotly. Theo and Malfoy share a look before Blaise nods.

"I'll take care of it," the Italian boy states calmly. "Brown has one of those muggle cameras, doesn't she? That instantly print the photos?"

"Polaroids, yes," Hermione says, a little confused.

"Make sure to take photos after everyone's detention and during the next Hogsmead trip, I'll pass them along to someone," he says. 

"That's a month from now," she points out annoyed. He hums and looks back at his own homework.

"I'll make it stop by next Friday."

On Tuesday, Blaise Zabini earns himself detention in DADA. When Umbridge asks what a shielding spell is, Blaise raises his hand and says,"Progato." But his other hand makes the movement with his wand and the blue shield snaps into place. It knocks three creepy kitten paintings off the wall and smashes one of the pink teacups. 'Oops' is all he says with a smug as the Cheshire cat smile. He's sent to Snape with a detention notice for that very night.

Wednesday morning, he shows off his scars to the entire Great Hall. ' _I will follow the rules'_ in his looping cursive. At lunch, a great swooping white hawk lands before Umbridge, drops the letter and takes off, knocking over her goblet. She reads the letter, goes several shades whiter and hurries off.

On Thursday, DADA lessons started off with a very tightlipped Umbridge. It is interrupted by, of all people, Rigal Leonzio in a 'Cranberries' tour shirt, black torn jeans and the navy blue MAS robe, throwing open the door. Behind him, Amelia Bones, two aurors and finally Fiona Rosier, also in MAS robes but with proper looking slacks and a button up black shirt, also filter in.

"What is this about?" Umbridge demands. 

"Doloras, there's been accusations leveled against you about improper use of force against students," Madame Bones states. "We have to search your office and rooms here."

"You will do no such thing," she says venomously. "I am Undersecretary to Minister Fudge. Cornelius-"

"Knows about this," Amelia finishes for her. "This is professional courtesy; not a debate."

The Professor stiffens but says, "Hem, I am in the middle of a lesson."

"Oh and what are you kids learning?" Rigil drawls leaning against the front of her desk. She turns a dirty glare on him.

"Who are you exactly?" she hisses.

"MAS Agent, Rigal Leonzio," he says tapping the logo on his robes.

"Here I thought the Magical Arcane Sector were professionals,” she sneers. He taps the emblem again.

“We are. That’s why I’ve got this little thing here embroidered on my over robe.”

“You are wearing _muggle_ clothes.”

“Am I?” he asks looking at his shirt. Then he digs in his pocket for a wand and looks at it thoughtfully. “Huh, weird. Could have sworn this sticky thing here made me a wizard?”

“Doloras, the concerned parties demanded their own representatives here. Agent Leonzio and junior Agent Rosier were sent to keep identities secret,” Bones says stiffly. She motions towards the door. “If you will?”

“The students are in class for another hour and a half,” Umbridge answers. “You may wait or-”

“Leonzio, are you confident in watching a bunch of fifteen year olds?” one of the Aurors, who Hermione realizes is _Tonks_ , with boring brown hair asks in a demanding tone.

“Only if you’re confident in not losing my baby agent,” he answers. “She’s new and impressionable. I don’t want you and Dwalish to teach her anything naughty, like how to take a bribe.”

“A Rosier, needing a bribe?” the other auror drawls. He snorts. “I knew your uncle.”

“That’s nice for you,” Fiona says airily. “I didn’t. If we can move on, Miss Umbridge?” Umbridge storms out of the room and the other four walk out with her. Up at the front, Rigil waves his wand and the door shuts. Then he hoists himself onto the desk, pushing things to the side so he can sit with his legs dangling down, boots making scuff marks on the wooden front.

“So this is the point where I tell you all to do your homework or whatever to keep occupied and you’re all free to do that, of course,” Rigil says. “But I’m also up for classroom games or general Q&A. Raise your hands if-” Several hands go up. “Oh, okay. Let’s get the ball rolling with you in the red tie, third row, curly brown hair.”

Hermione drops her hand, turns to Blaise and says, “This is your way of _dealing with it?”_ At the front, Rigil snorts but doesn’t dispute it.

“It's worked, isn't it?” the Slytherin boy asks defensively. “I let myself get mutilated and all.”

“ _Zabini_ , everyone knows my cousin is dating Fi’s brother who is also _my lawyer_ and Harry’s for that matter!” she says. “This is making it _worse_.”

“Yes but it's _my grandfather_ and _Malfoy’s_ that own the MAS so it could’ve been any one of us. I’m surprised they didn’t send Mor and Bill while they were at it.”

“They’re on a mission,” Rigil provides then claps his hands. “Right, raise your hand if you’ve been mutilated in detention this year.” Most of the Gryffindor hands go up and _none_ of the Slytherins hands do, besides Blaise. “Interesting. Raise your hand if you know what a Rosier _is_ before, like, ten minutes ago.” Many hands fall but all the Slytherin ones go up. “And how many of you think you’re going to be going to Callum Rosier’s wedding?” Hands drop like flies. Only Hermione and Blaise keep their hands up confidently. 

“Put your hands up,” Hermione says to Harry and Ron. They both give her weirded out looks. “I’ll need a plus one Harry and Ron, your brothers are going to be in the wedding party plus Percy works at Nott’s, so Cal or Etta are going to invite your entire family.”

“I have a question,” Dean Thomas says raising his hand.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Rigil says waving at him.

“Does the MAS believe in You-Know-Who?” Dean asks.

“Well, no,” the agent says. This makes Harry open his mouth and several others but he raises his hand to stop arguments. "Gods, give a man a moment, kids. No, the MAS does not believe in the person known as Voldemort." Several people jump and Neville squeaks. "As he is a real, recorded person, within living memory, we have to accept that he exists and is not a figment of mass hallucination. Equally, no, we do not believe in his ethos, though his original published manifesto is required reading for any agent entering the field in the United Kingdom. We are all vetted and trained for discriminatory views. Additionally, more than half our staff would be targets based on his and his followers’ beliefs about blood purity and the other portion would be-" here he finger quotes with one hand. "-blood traitors, even if up until this very generation, their families have not married outside of the supposed Sacred Twenty-Eight in their male lineage since 1567 when Jasper Goyle married a Muggle-born woman after she obliterated his father and brother, proving herself capable in a duel for his heart."

"Oh, that's so romantic," Lavender sighs. "But I think Dean meant, does your Agency believe You-Know-Who is back from the dead?" 

Rigil looks at all their faces before stating, "It is the belief of the MAS that Voldemort has returned." His hand shoots up to halt everyone again from shouting. "Several of our agents have had visual confirmation as well as several Marked people in the employment of the MAS have confirmed a calling. Since they were mostly underage at the end of the last war, there is no reason to disbelieve them now."

"What does that mean for us?" Seamus asks, half raising his hand.

"If your government persists in denial, it'll allow him and his followers a stronger foothold in the community, much like last time. And that means anyone opposing them is fucked because even for magic users, literal resurrection is terrifyingly bad." Hermione jerks her hand up. It's been awhile since someone actually sighed at seeing her hand. However, she doesn't take it to heart because she recognizes the tone. "Go ahead."

"How do we recognize a Death Eater?" she asks. Rigil actually pauses to _look_ at her.

"Generally, they have a tattoo of the Dark Mark on their arm. Additionally, they've just called you a filthy blood traitor or mudblood or other slur and are now trying to torture and/or kill you."

"Sir, a diary tried to kill me once for being muggleborn and Victorian maidens are more likely to flash an ankle than a pureblood is to show their arms." A few people actually chuckle.

"I'm afraid that there is no sure way besides those to tell a Death Eater from a normal wizarding family member. Many will be from the Sacred 28 list that Cantankerous Nott released but a lot of those families were never aligned in the first place. I suggest keeping your head down and not talking to strangers."

"Our Defense teacher last year was Barty Crouch Jr. using Polyjuice potion to masquerade as Auror Alastor Moody so I don't think those are options," Blaise says. "Can you teach us that cool fire spell with the blue ring of flames you were showing off to Etta and Charlie at the end of August?"

"No. I think the agreement you struck with your grandfather was that you would get top spot in your DADA and Charms grades then I would teach you."

"I'm top in both classes," Hermione says. "Can you teach me?"

"Miss Granger, I'm not teaching anyone that spell on UK soil. The Ministry has labelled it a Dark spell because Gellert Grindalwald favored it and it was created by the Rosier Family," Rigil answers. 

"I have a standing invitation to Cal's Chateaux for the holidays this year. Can you teach me there?"

"I don't have an invitation to the Rosier Family Holidays-"

"Oh, that's easy enough. I'm sure Fi'll give you one," Blaise answers.

"And I'm not spending my free time with Morgana Nott, Bill Weasley and Fiona Rosier having access to excessive amounts of alcohol. I spend enough time in the field with them."

"Charlie Weasley will be there," Hermione says. "He's a _dragon tamer._ "

"I think Lord Rosier also invited his niece and her family so Tonks'll be there too."

"This all sounds terrible," Rigil informs them. "I will be home with my roommate, relaxing, happy I don't have family. Not teaching children a fire shield spell. What are you learning in this class?"

"Mostly government sanctioned propaganda," Theo answers. "And how to correctly write sanitized reports."

"Oh," the agent says nodding. "Sounds about right. Governments really hate when their citizens can fight back against totalitarian or fascist oppression." Hermione raises her hand. “If it's about my holidays, just put your hand down.” She doesn’t. She’s feeling _annoying_. “What?”

“In your opinion, at the end of the last war-” His eyes roll to the ceiling like he’s seeking God’s help. “Who do you think the hottest Death Eater was?”

“None of them but Evan Rosier if I have to pick.”

“I call bullshit,” Blaise says instantly. “Your type is red heads. So one of the Lestranges, Avery or MacNair.”

“Fine. Rabastan Lestrange is the closest to my age. Let's drop it and-”

“Charlie Weasley is a red head."

"If I date any of the Weasleys, it's Bill so I never have to do field work with him again. Now drop it or I'm making next summer miserable for the both of you. I don't know how but I have nine months to plan it." Both of them share a smug look. "Good, great, can't wait to get back to HQ and deal with the fallout of this conversation. Anyone want to learn something _actually_ involved in the subject matter of this class?"

"No, Luke Nott was the most attractive," Draco says and promptly gets sworn at, by the agent.

"That's only because you're related to the Rosiers and the Lestranges and Regulus Black," Theo says. At the front of the classroom, Rigil takes out a flask and takes a swig, glaring at the room as a whole. "Everyone knows that Black was the hottest."

"Yeah, fine, let's talk about how hot the murderous eugenists were," Rigil says. "Anyone else want to chime in?"

"Er, Barty Crouch Jr. wasn't _terrible_ looking," Harry states. Rigil throws a hand up.

"Oh for fuck's sake."

"Okay but we all have to agree, Grindalwald is the more attractive Dark Lord," Pansy says.

"Yes, of course," Lavender agrees. "Harry says You-Know-Who doesn't have a nose and is bald. Like a snake. Grindalwald always looked attractive, even at his arrest."

"V-Vinda R-Rosier was quite pretty," Neville says. "She was Grindalwald's right hand."

"If she looks anything like that Rosier," Dean says pointing at the door. "I can get behind that."

"Fiona looks more like a Rosier," Malfoy states. "As does her brother and cousin." Evan's mother than. Which makes sense. In pictures, he only sort of looks like his brothers, who are all darker eyed and darker haired but paler skinned (that could be just the lack of sun. All three Rosiers spent a lot of time outside, in South France, and Evan himself travelled to many sunny locations). "I think Vinda took after her mother, a Parkinson. Darker hair and eyes."

And because Hermione is nice, she says, "Speaking of pretty women-" Rigil dead stares at her. He thinks she's going to say _Bellatrix Lestrange_ but she's not awful. A bit teasing, that's downright rude. "The new Chaser for the Holly Harpyheads is gorgeous." This starts a whole new discussion about the hottest Quidditch player and everyone telling stories about Victor and Lev from the year before until class ends. 

Hermione waves Ron and Harry off to lunch and waits for Rigil to leave. He looks at her with a raised eyebrow until she offers to show him to Umbridge's office.

"I'm sorry," she offers because she does feel bad.

"It's fine," he says.

"No. I shouldn't have asked-"

He stops and so does she, turning to him. "Hermione, I promise, it's fine. It's not the first nor likely the last time I'll hear from a bunch of kids that my… well, my friends were hot. Or me." She gives him a sheepish smile. "Don't think Mor and Bill weren't talking about those pictures you sent. If I never have to hear from him that Evan Rosier was his Bi-awakening, it'll be too soon."

"Bill is the hottest Weasley," she points out.

"Yeah, he was really cute when Reg fed him too many sweets at the Prewett House one day and he threw up rainbows all over our dress robes before a Samhain celebration." Evan's voice coming low out of Rigil's mouth is like being back in the Black Lake. It's wrong and twisted and makes Hermione think of Moody's face bubbling into Barty's hollowed out one. "Thank you for sending those pictures though. Adam and Brax said dad really appreciated it. Where did you find them?"

"Taped to Regulus' vanity mirror," she says, dropping her voice lower. "Sirius duplicated them when I mentioned I didn’t think Fi and Elian had anything that wasn't mugshots." 

"Gryffindors," he sighs. "Thank you for the one you sent Mattie. Are you going to the Rosiers' for Christmas?"

"No. Custody for Harry is still dragging and Ron isn't always the best emotional company." She looks around the empty corridor. "Are you home?"

"Yeah, I can't leave Matt alone for the hols."

"Our mail is being searched." 

He gives her a searching look before nodding. "When is your next Hogsmeade trip?" he asks, taking out a small notebook and a pen.

"Next weekend. Why?" she asks, watching him write something. Step by step instructions by the looks.

"When you're in town, go to the appocathry and tell them you're there to pick up an order for Leonzio," Evan says and rips out the page, handing it to her. She looks at it. It's a potion's recipe. "Invisible ink. Reg, Rab and I came up with it when our guardians were searching our letters. Reg once brewed it for a project Sirius was working on and I only ever told Orion, Brax and Adam. It's activated and deactivated by charm code."

"Hermione!" Harry calls hurrying up to her. She sees creamy parchment clutched in one hand and his wand in the other. "Hermione, he's not-"

Hermione yanks her best friend close and slaps a hand over his mouth. Meeting his wide green eyes, she hisses, "I know."

"But he's a-" he mumbles through her hand.

"Harry, _I know_. I've known since I got back from France," she hisses.

"That long?" Evan says into the air with mild disappointment.

"I don't understand," Harry says slumping against her grip. "He's not who he says. He took Polyjuice potion and everything.”

“What? This?” Evan asks and pushes the flask under Harry’s nose. He wheels back, nose scrunching. “It's coffee.” 

“Why do you have a bottle full of coffee?”

“Because I’m constantly tired of existence,” he answers, tucking the bottle away. “Mr. Potter, I don’t know how you figured me out, but it's not what it looks like. I’m…” He pauses like he’s trying to figure out a good explanation. “You grew up in the muggle world right? So you know what witness protection is? My bosses are fully aware of who I am and if anyone else finds out, I’ll be hunted down for treason and my family will likely be dragged into it as well.”

“But-”

“Harry, I swear, I’ll explain everything later,” Hermione says and darts her eyes down the hall. Umbridge’s office door is just swinging open. Harry’s eyes go wide and they both rush to shove the Marauder's Map into Hermione’s open bag right before Fiona steps out. She gives the three of them a critical look.

“Do I even want to know?” she asks, tightening her ponytail.

“Leonzio said that your uncle was the hottest Death Eater at the end of the last war,” Hermione answers. 

Fiona's nose wrinkles. "I hope you mean Evan, not Ellis. Thank the gods Magical France moves their fashion along with the muggle world. I would die if Cal was caught in some of the outfits I've seen Evan to have worn." 

Hermione skips over Rigil's exasperated face to Harry's wide-eyed panicked look.

"Anyways, it was nice to see you guys again," Hermione says quickly. "Thank you for the advice, Mr. Leonzio. We have to get to class now. Bye Fi. Give my best to everyone, yeah?" And she hauls Harry away.

Or starts to but Rigil says, "How bad is his hand?" Hermione makes Harry show him the red scars. "' _I must not tell lies_.' That's deep. Physically, not philosophically. Philosophically, that's foolish. What are you using on it?"

"Er, Mione has murtlap essence," Harry says, shooting her a confused look.

"Try Dittany, it'll help with the scaring. I wish we had a camera to document it," Rigil adds. 

"Oh, right," Hermione says and grabs the Polaroid pictures from inside her bag. He accepts them, flipping through the 30ish pictures. "I was going to send them to Luke Nott during our next Hogsmeade trip."

"We'll make sure they get to him," he promises. Something behind the Italian accent reminds Hermione of the promises made in a backyard garden. "Get to class kids." 

The talk with Harry later that night, long after the Common Room empties goes… well, it goes enough he doesn't run off to tell anyone. She explains a portion of what Evan told her in the early summer weeks. About Joining the Death Eaters and his leaving. She keeps the details of various battles he alluded to; the torture he may have done and that which he might have done to him. But Harry seems to believe her he isn't working for the Dark Lord; that he _is_ Rigil Leonzio and not acting like him. The terrible danger it would put his nieces and nephew and everyone he associated with if it came to light he was _alive_.

He promises to trust her judgement and that means so much.

Of course, nothing is found in Umbridge's office or room that day. Use of blood quills are quietly shuffled under the press of a dozen other rules she starts to implement. (She tells Blaise about 'Dumbledore's Army' before even approaching Harry about teaching. The Slytherin huffs out a laugh at her but turns down the offer to join.) When she writes to evan, he sends some not so... strictly legal pranks the Marauders pulled during school. Things that Remus and Sirius would never tell Harry about, in case it made them look bad to him. Hermione doesn't not pass the list onto Fred and George, in return, throwing in her own suggestions. They grin at her, pressing kisses to each cheek and rushing off as she shrieks at them. 

===

On the second visit to St. Mungo's, Hermione goes to visit long term patients. The hour is late and there should be no visitors on New Years’ Eve. But she has flowers, paper roses she made when her mind wandered with theories about Harry's dreams and those flowers deserve a place to show their white innocence and yellow memories and peach gratitude. Alice and Frank Longbottom deserve all that and more.

She's surprised to see someone sitting in the chair between their beds as she rounds the shut curtain. She sees the elegant curved shoulders stiffen in their dove grey robes. The head tipped forward, as if in prayer or grief, raises but doesn't turn to look through blond and black hair.

"Hello, Mrs. Malfoy," Hermione greets softly. Both Longbottoms are sleeping, Frank turned away on his side and truly, Neville drools just like him. Alice fell asleep on her back, facing Narcissa. "I just came to drop off some paper flowers."

She takes a few steps to Alice's other bedside to put the bundle of tissue paper flowers among the little trinkets from old friends, family, and young inspired aurors. She can feel grey eyes on her the entire time but she ignores them in favor of the pictures. Of Neville, his Longbottom uncles, his grandmother and Order members and the wedding photos of Alice and Frank. James Potter and Sirius were in the foreground of one, laughing with Frank and a few others, all in dress robes. There's one of Alice mid-dance, in her wedding dress. The picture is frozen, just a capture of her bright and happy face, mid turn, while her partner is facing away from the camera. It's not Frank's blond hair but a deep albarn and there's a silver sigil ring, one she can vaguely recognize from the Rosier Jewel Vault. The only picture with either of Alice then-Lestrange's brothers. 

"Those are quite nice," Narcissa says into the quiet of the room. Hermione almost jumps but she turns away from the photos to look at the woman. "The papercraft. Did you make them?"

"Oh, um, yes," she says awkwardly. "I found some paper at, erm Sirius' house. I made them for Mr. Weasley but he's being released the day after tomorrow so I thought it would be nice to brighten up Neville's parents' instead." A half-lie but Mrs. Malfoy seems to accept it.

"Innocence, memory and thanks," she says instead. "Callum taught you?"

"My neighbor, the one who grows roses," she offers, shifting on her feet. "Did- were you friends with Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom?"

Narcissa switches her gaze to Alice's sleeping face. "Alice and I were quite close because of my cousins and her younger brother. We were the same year; one above Sirius and two about Regulus, Evan and Rabastan. We lost touch after… after my older sister married her older brother. The boys were old enough to travel between houses by then. We had our own paths."

"That's… too bad," Hermione says trying to read between the lines. 

"Yes, it is. I have nothing but shame for my sister's part in their condition," she says stiffly. 

"It must have been difficult to come to terms with everything, ma'am," Hermione says politely. "I know my cousin is finding it difficult to deal with her parents being discriminatory against magic."

Narcissa looks sideways at her then at the roses on the table between Alice and Frank's beds. They're deep burgundy red or blue and the water in the vase tells her that they're real. "It is very difficult to love a- someone who could do monstrous deeds such as these." Did she mean her sister or her husband? "Alice and Rabastan were very close. He risked much attending her wedding to Frank. My cousin, Regulus, went with him of course. Lord Lestrange had disowned Alice when the engagement was announced; Rabastan went anyway to walk her down the aisle. I hoped we could have raised our children together when we were young."

Hermione feels an uncomfortable drop in her stomach. "Mrs. Malfoy, were you in love with her?" The woman blinks, tearing her eyes away from the roses.

"Excuse me?"

"It's just… you sound very sad and red-red roses are for love and the blue are for unattainable, aren't they?" She's unsure about that. Evan always avoided talking about red roses and until she entered the wizarding world, blue roses were artificially created. "I'm sorry for prying. You don't have to answer of course."

"You are correct about the roses," Narcissa says carefully. "However, those are burgundy roses. To the Rosier Family-" her voice stops for a moment. "To my mother's family, burgundy roses are given to those we have failed and red roses are planted on those graves who died- on the graves of spouses and children." Her mouth purses for a moment before she adds, "Sirius claimed Evan Rosier was on his way to the Black cemetery in his aurors report. He had rose seeds and a quick-grow potion on him." Hermione nods her understanding. She thinks of the single red rose bush in Matt and Evan's yard. The one she had found herself standing before several times last summer. 

"Oh, I see. So those are an apology?" she asks. The woman hesitates before nodding. "Ma'am, you can't blame yourself for your sister's actions."

"They aren't from me," Narcissa says softly. "I was asked to deliver them. It is hard to say no to someone you owe everything to. A tiny price to pay an unplayable debt."

"A price that goes with the wedding rings in the Rosier Jewel vaults?" Hermione says almost softer. Narcissa almost perceptively, stiffens in her chair. "They're very pretty, ma'am. Cal showed me them picking up some gifts over the summer."

"They were wistful thinking on my part," Narcissa says, smoothing her skirt. "Lucius' sister was set to marry Regulus but she was unstable. Not a strong match for the future Lord Black. My girlhood crush was put aside for a strong alliance with the Malfoy family. Those rings were an indulgence Corin Rosier granted my wasteful youthful fancy. Lord Rosier has always been indulgent such as he shows with Callum and the girls."

"Ma'am," Hermione says, trying to ease the tightness. "You send Ma-Draco a sweets package once a week." The lady loosens up. "He's the envy of every girl above a certain age at least once a month for those chocolates."

"Draco means the world to me," she says. "He was the only family I had left who was not dead or in prison. He deserves all the love I can give him."

It's two days later, in the kitchen of the Grindelwald Place, that Hermione understands who sent the roses. The hollowed eyes drifting hazily behind stringy auburn hair, the pointy nose of Rabastan Lestrange, printed next to the wickedly laughing Bellatrix and Rodolphus on the front page of the Prophet. She wonders what exactly Narcissa Malfoy owed the youngest Lestrange sibling that she would deliver flowers to his sister's bedside only days after his escape from prison. What unplayable debt was there?

===

Months and ages and OWLS later, Hermione Granger was seriously questioning her choice in friends. Also, her own cleverness, in not maybe talking to Evan, _the ex-Death Eater_ , about how her best friend was having visions. As a _former spy_ , he probably had some suggestions about mind protection that wasn't traumatic for all parties involved.

But no, instead she'd let it go on and now she found herself with a severely sprained ankle in the Department of Mysteries, with a Death Eater advancing on her and another one whose head was aging and deaging. Her wand was too far away for her to make a lunge for it too.

So she looks up into the silver mask. She'd held one of those masks before, traced the lines with pudgy child’s fingers, in a warm bedroom that smelled like ginger cookies. She was struck by the memory of Evan dropping the tray of cookies and milk across his bedroom floor and yanking the mask from her hands. She'd cried, mostly in surprise and fear of having done something wrong. Matt had swept in and bundled her off back downstairs and to her house. They'd sat in her living room and he promised her, Evan wasn't mad, just scared and hurt.

Matt's eyes look out at her from those slats now. Brown eyes surrounded by silver metal. But these eyes weren't warmly compassionate, but cold and unfeeling. She was scared, in pain now. So she said the one thing she could think at that moment.

"Stup-"

"Matt!" Hermione blurts out. The Death Eater jerks his wand, aiming now at the baby-headed other one. That was probably a kindness, in reality, to knock him out.

"What did you say?" he asks in the almost silence of the destroyed Time Room. Just sand shifting, pouring off of shelves, sounded between them and their breathes.

"Matt," she wheezes. He'd grazed her with a spell that made her blood feel like it was boiling. "Matt Dolohov."

"How do you know that name?" the Death Eater asks.

"I know him," she says and looks at the blondish hair escaping his hood. "He has a picture of you on his bedside table. At-" She thinks quickly, trying to remember what Matt had explained months ago. "-at Molly and Arthur's wedding, I think."

He hesitates then kicks her her wand. She instantly takes it up, pointing it at him. "I gave that back. Where is he?"

She opens her mouth, then closes it. If she said, she could be giving her own parents away, never mind _Evan_ 's safe house. "Zabini," she blurts out. "Adam Zabini. He-he took over certain deals Mr. Black made. He'd know. I was just along for a visit. You worked for Mr. Black. You loved Gideon. Ron and Ginny are his nephew and niece. Please, Matt-"

"Shut up," Antonin orders harshly. "Just shut up and stay still." He casts a spell, binding her leg in gauze. "Now stay here. Out of the way."

"But-" He's already throwing a spell at his friend (former?), wrapping him in ropes.

"I'm leaving this madhouse," he states. "The Order will be here soon enough. Just stay out of the fighting, girl."

"Hermione," she says as he strolls through the door to the circular entrance room. She glares for half a second before working on getting mobile again. A quick _glacius_ to the bonds around her ankle numb the area and keep the swelling down. She raises to her feet just in time to be grabbed by someone large and male, wand at her throat. She struggles but he's surprisingly strong and manages to force her forward.

"Walk, mudblood," the Death Eater orders. She claws at his arm, the one pressed against her throat. There's leather bracers under his heavy robes, making her nails useless. As he forces her through the door to the Arch room, her sight catches on gold and purple and white threads.

The woven bracelet. The emergency tracker. She manages to catch the threads in her mouth and yank hard. It snaps at the locking loop. Five minutes, all she needed was five minutes. She can make five minutes.

Inside the Arch Room, Bellatrix and Lucius are facing off against Neville and Harry and Luna. Well, her friends were dodging the best they could as the Death Eaters try to catch them.

"Enough or I'll kill her!" the man holding Hermione announces. Her friends, the bloody numbskull Gryffindors, fall back as she's dragged towards Bellatrix and Lucius. She notices behind the three students, a fourth and fifth Death Eater fall into place: Mr. Nott and Rabastan. 

"Good job, husband," Bellatrix coos sickly sweet. Hermione already hates that voice. They volley back and forth about the prophecy. And Hermione does the only thing she can think of in the moment.

"Luna is Malfoy Heir!" she half gasps half shouts. Lucius whips around with a snarled _what_ on his tongue. 

"My son-"

"Affair," she gasps. She can turn her head so she focuses on Rabastan. Under his mask, his eyes, the ones who match Neville's, are full of the same fear shining in her friends’. _Ah-ha, gotchu_. "Not- not your son. Affair. B-Brax told Cal, told Siri."

"You shut your whore-"

"Named-named after Cissa's lover." Lucius takes a step towards her, wand raising and then Bella cackles. It's not a good cackle, it reminds her of muggle witches, of the Wicked Witch of the East and Snow White's Evil Queen.

"Ooo, did ickle little Rabi and my baby sister go behind Luci's back?" Bella coos over the teenagers’ heads. "Is that where you were when we went and had fun with Alice? Naughty, naughty, Rabastan." She laughs again and behind Hermione, her husband laughs too. She can feel his chest rumble against her back, his sour breath on her neck. "Was she a good fuck? You went to jail for her so she must be."

"Silence!" Lucius snarls at all of them. He turns and advances on Harry. "Give me the fucking prophecy, Potter, or we'll kill your mudblood bit-"

Hermione jams her wand up and into Rodolphos' eye. He screams and let's her go. She drops as Nott tries to curse her and kicks away Rodolphos' dropped wand. Nott screams in pain and she looks up to see Rabastan redirecting a curse thrown by Bellatrix herself.

"You traitorous little bastard," Lucius shouts as the younger Lestrange ducks around the Arch itself. Lucius snarls but advances on Harry, who of course, has tripped over Nott's prone body. "Give me the-"

Sirius punches him in the side of the head. Him and Harry are battling Malfoy and Bellatrix but Rodolphus has gotten hold of himself and his wand, trying to curse her. Tonks and Kingsley swoop in soon enough and she turns back to Harry and Sirius.

"Nice one, James," Sirius says joyfully. Then a jet of red light slams into his chest. Everything seems to stop as he starts to fall into the Archway. Rabastan slams into his shoulder, knocking both to the ground and Hermione is already running towards the group because Harry is about to have to fight Bellatrix Lestrange alone and Lucius is already rising to his feet.

" _Inflamari Diabolica_!" The flames jet past Harry and slam into Mr. Nott who was already raising his wand at his back. Mr. Nott screams and screams as the flames burn at his face and clothes and pass him to splash against the wall and up, up, up. The entire room seems to be cast into lurid blue light by Hermione's flames. 

"Crucio!" Hermione's world crashes into pain, pain, pain at Bellatrix's voice. Then that awful purple spell Dolohov had used makes her blood boil again. It feels like _years_ of pain. All at once it ends and she's left panting on the cold stone floor. The cold felt so _good._

"Evan?" Several voices say amazing and disbelieving and Hermione lets out a half-sob. Slim hands are suddenly in her hair, on her face and then someone is pushing a glass vial against her bottom lip and she drinks. Calm water runs through her veins, soothing her of the pain and racing heart. She manages to focus on the blue eyes above her, the short blond hair and she sobs again, "Evan."

"Up we go, Mione," Fiona says, helping her to sit. Because it's not Evan. Her mind was just telling her it was. The battle is very clearly finished now, Order members securing Death Eaters in the blue light of Hermione's own fire. She instantly looks for Harry; for Sirius. Remus is checking over Harry while Sirius is sitting against the Archway looking like she felt and standing above him, mask totally removed, is Rabastan Lestrange. His eyes are glued, wide, off to the side, towards the flames themselves. Hermione looks over that way and sees the familiar silhouette.

"Evan," she says relieved. Because it was him, in a stupid muggle teeshirt and sweatpants and his hair a bedheaded mess, gleaming in the fire. "Evan."

"Leonzio," Fiona snaps and he jerks around. Hermione's eyes drop from his face, grim, down to what he had been looking at. A body, unmoving, in the flames. 

"Oh no," she gasps. 

"Hermione," Evan says, taking steps towards her. 

"No, no, no," she says as panic fills her again. She sees Moody trying to block him but Bill swiftly intervenes. 

"It's okay," he says, kneeling in front of her. "Mione, you're okay." Her breath catches on tears. 

"I killed him." Evan doesn't deny it. He just reaches out and prys her wand away. She resists. If he takes her wand, she'll be defenseless. He manages to get it out of her hand and presses a different one into her hand. 

"Take my wand." It warms in her hand and roses brush her senses but her eyes still skate away from him to… it had to be Mr. Nott.

"I killed Theo's dad," she croaks. Evan doesn't deny it. "Evan, Evan, I killed-"

"A murderer and a rapist trying to _kill_ you," he insists, gripping her wrists. "Hermione, it's going to feel terrible now and you'll always remember but you survived this. You've done _so_ good. I am so proud of you."

"But he- he-" warm fingers on her cheek guide her attention back to Evan's face.

"Mione, I _promise_ , it's okay. You're going to get through this. You're a hundred times stronger than when I was your age and you have so many people to help you that aren't your own dumb traumatized friends. You have your parents and Etta and Cal and don't think your Cléa isn't going to be right there for you. Luke and Mai are going to have your back and you are going to have so many therapists crawling out of the MAS's basements to teach you coping mechanisms, nevermind Mattie himself. Okay?"

She sniffles but nods. That did make her feel better. All those people were probably in her corner. Her grandmother for sure but… "He's Luke's brother."

"And I give you blanket permission to light either of my brothers on fire, kiddo. Especially Ellis." He wipes away some of her tears. "Mione, I will pull every memory I have of how much of a monster that man was if you need me to. Luke's been trying to put him away for fourteen years. Morgana has wanted to put her wand down his throat since she was twelve. They're not going to blame you at all. He was a grown fucking adult attacking school kids which me and Rab can attest to this being a reoccurring habit. He's only got himself to blame." She nods. True enough. "Can we try to stand up now? I guarantee you'll feel better upright after a crucio."

Hermione let's him pull her up. What has to be Fiona's hands on her back to steady her. She wobbles on her injured ankle which Fiona quickly rebounds and re-ices. Then she just leans into Evan's chest. He hesitates for a second before hugging her.

"I am absolutely telling Cal and granddad about this the _second_ we're through here," Fi says. Hermione snorts while Evan sighs.

"No you aren't," Evan tells her. "You signed a contract to keep MAS identities secret and I _absolutely_ fall under the guidelines. They were created for me. Don't worry, I'm sure Dora over there is already composing the perfect message to out me to everyone."

"Oh, I already sussed you out in August," Tonks assures him. "You were way too comfortable flirting with Sirius in front of Archie and then threatening Snape about that comment he made over Regulus plus you avoided the creaky floorboards in Number 12. I checked with Brax in September."

"Well, look who is a better auror than 90 percent last time," Evan says a little sarcastically. "Bill-"

"Oh, I knew when you spent the 20 minute trip to the hospital last May swearing that you should have drowned Peter Petigrew in the Black Lake when he shoved Regulus in when you were twelve," Bill comments. "Mor doesn't know. Tonks, make sure to tell Mor."

"I was going to ask if you're responding to a MAS emergency call or responding with the Order but as the senior agent, I've decided you're off the clock just for that comment. Professionalism, Weasley."

"At least he showed up in real pants," Fiona drawls. Hermione huffs a laugh.

"I was in the shower," Evan defends. "I didn't even have time to put up my glamours, obviously."

"It's _three in the morning_ ," his niece says scornfully. "Why are you showering at 3am?"

"I live in Uffington, thanks, so it's only 1am," he says defensively. "And if you really want to know, it's because I pulled someone at a bar earlier and needed to wash off their obnoxious perfume. Anyways, I can fight just as well in a Led Zeppelin tee and sweatpants than in everything else. Honestly, everything is better dueling clothing than those stupid masks and robes.” Gasping, Hermione jerks away from him. Evan doesn’t let her go far, just rests his hands on her shoulders. “Woah, woah, no quick movements. Oh don’t give me that look. You spent the entire summer two years ago staring at my tattoos and we had a very long, uncomfortable discussion this past summer about Barty and Death Eatering.”

“Matt,” she states wide-eyed.

“He’s fine. Still grading semester final papers when I got home with that woman. Probably going to be pissed when he has to escort her out in the morning,” Evan says dismissively. “The entire neighborhood will be ecstatic about his affair.”

“No, no,” Hermione says quickly. “I told his brother he was still alive.”

“Did you give him your or our address?”

“No, I told him Adam knew where he was then he tied up Mr. Crabbe and bandaged my ankle and told me to stay out of the fight and left,” she says in a single breath. “He’s going to get hurt and it's all my-”

“Mattie is going to be fine. Antonin on the other hand is going to run face first into Adam’s wards and the Old Resistance Club.”

“The what?” Sirius asks. Hermione looks over to see he’s watching them warily but not outright hostile. Rabastan still looks like Evan is a hallucination. 

“He’s talking about Brax, Adam, and Hermione’s very own Grandmother, Clea,” Bill explains. “They all, uh, fought Nazis and Grindalwald’s people when they were younger.” There’s a bit of a pause before Fiona suddenly starts laughing. “What? What’s so funny?”

“Heavens above, Bill. Remember over Yule? We all talked about our first adolescent old man crushes?” she wheezes. “And I said the normal, my Potions instructor was hot and Cal said that he always liked the Keeper from the Serbian team? And Mor-Mor said, Sirius was her first crush.” Bill starts blushing very hard. “And Charlie, he said Rabastan Lestrange was the one who got him into dragons but we _absolutely_ could not tell anyone in his family right? Right? Do you remember who you said?”

He groans. “Fi, everyone already knows your uncle was my bi-awakening.”

She wheezes. “Oui, oui, and Fluer said Cal was her first crush. But don’t you remember? Remember _Etta_ said Hermione’s _neighbor_ was her first crush on an older man. Hermione’s neighbor, _Evan_ , who told them to light things on fire if they were ever in trouble and grows roses and went to posh private school.”

Bill chokes on a laugh. “Your uncle is the hot nerdy one with the sad eyes. At least Etta is consistent.”

“There is a dead body fifteen feet over there, guys,” Evan snaps at them. Both look at him before grinning. “Oh gods damn, Mor really had a crush on Sirius?”

“Technically she said she’d go for either Black brother but would’ve never broken your heart by seducing Regulus,” Bill answers, clicking his tongue afterwards. 

“Draco!” Rabastan says suddenly. He takes two steps away from the Arch to find himself on the end of Remus and Moody’s wands. 

“What about him?” Tonks questions standing between the two of them. She’s wearing her official auror robes. “And make this easy, lets not resist-”

“Evan’s daughter told Malfoy and Bella,” he babbles. “Someone had to- you have to keep- she’s at the Greengrass’. If she goes home- They escaped, you can’t-”

“I don’t have a daughter,” Evan says confused. 

But Hermione understands. “I told Mr. Malfoy and Bellatrix that Narcissa had been having an affair,” she says. “With Rabastan. And-and that Draco was his son.” She covers her mouth with a hand. “Oh, I put them in terrible danger, haven’t I?”

“Well, Draco is at school still,” Evan says and then adds in a sterner tone, “Where you should be. It is a school night, Hermione Granger. I thought we agreed there would be no more sneaking about after hours, young lady. And breaking into the government to fight evil agents of darkness and chaos, for shame." 

Hermione meets his blue eyes and says, very steadily. "Sorry, Ev. Looks like I've entered the rebellious teenage stage. Harry and I have been leading a secret training program at school to overthrow the tyrannical Ministry toady that had taken over, feeding us propaganda and making decrees that infringe on our rights as human beings."

Evan looks utterly delighted at the statement. "How is she _not_ your daughter?" Rabastan asks in disbelief. "Evan, you've used half those statements in references to Dumbledore and the Ministry."

Evan cheerfully pets Hermione's hair. "Oh, I wish I had a daughter as brilliant as our Hermione. Ah, to be a young twenty-something year old, beset upon by a overly enthused seven year at dawn demanding strawberry crepes instead of a 35 year old awoken because someone had decided to overthrow the fascist, genocidal purist police state at one in the morning."

Hermione squints at him before rolling her eyes. "You're drunk aren't you?"

"I'm not sober. I didn't expect to be dueling tonight."

"You shouldn't have come," she insists. "Evan, alcohol slows reaction time and-"

He puts a hand over her mouth. "Kiddo, I'm going to be perfectly, horrifically honest: the day I 'died'-" he makes quote marks with his free hand. "-I was far more sober than any raid I was ever sent on between 17 and 19. I spent almost three years drunk and on a scary amount of mood stabilizing potions to deal with the horror show my life was. This continued for a few years until Matt dumped everything down the drain and told me I had to sober up or get out because we'd been elected by your parents to watch you in the hour after daycare before they could get home. And you couldn't be watched by Mrs. Willis at 19 with the rest of the kids because she's a horrid homophobic racist cow. So I sobered up and started garden warfare against her and am now on actual medication. The tiny buzz I have going now isn't going to affect anything."

"You're taking medication?" she asks surprised.

"So much," he says easily before shouting "Delacour!"

"Oui, Rigal?" the half-veela says appearing next to them. She's in the official MAS robes and far more put together than Bill or Evan. But she was half-veela and a Malfoy cousin so who knows what that sort of magic of genes made. 

"Grab Quinn, clean him up and go tell Narcissa Malfoy that Lord Arcturus Black has taken ill and requests her at his bedside." He looks at Rabastan. "Where did you say she was?"

"Greengrass Manor. Malfoy sent her in case everything fell apart," the Death Eater answers grimencing. "Evan, I-"

"Bring her to HQ then Floo her into Zabini's compound. Put her on a house arrest there. No one under a Class 2 Agent is to even know she exists there until Brax and Zabini discuss things with me. Rosier-"

"That's going to be confusing," Bill mutters. 

"Go wake the lawyers. Have Nguyen meet Weasley and Lovegood at St. Mungos; tell Rosier and Nott what happened here and that they'll need to transfer Hermione Granger's accounts to MAS - MAS, _not_ Witcomb and Lang - if they are uncomfortable continuing with her being their client. Then head to Lord Rosier's and tell him Sebastian Nott is dead. He needs to warn Mor and get with Luke about Theodore's custody. Preferably the three of them can get to Gringotts before it opens to the public. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Fiona says without a hint of sarcasm. 

"Good, before you two leave," he says sharply at the two women. "Do remember next time, that you are junior agents therefore, not cleared for emergency calls by Class 2 threats. Tonight went well with the Order onsite but next time it might not be." Both mutter their assent before walking off.

"They didn't do bad," Sirius says. "I saw them take down Goyle upstairs." 

"Black, I know that your master, government and the Dark Lord like grooming children to be child soldiers in stupid conflicts that have no real bearing on the rest of the country, nevermind world, but having been the child soldier-" Here he holds up his arm with the stark Dark Mark surrounded by rose vines. "-I'm not jumping at the thought of my niece and her best friend fighting men twice, if not three times their ages, at age _nineteen_ , also being the age I 'died' and your brother, _my boyfriend_ , disappeared without a fucking trace. So shut the fuck up, Rosier and Delcour know fucking well that they will be written up at the very least, if not have their field certification revoked." 

Bill starts snickering. He gets a warning glare from Evan but that doesn’t stop him. "It's just cute, man.”

“Cut it, William,” he warns before going back to glaring at Sirius. “I suppose that’s what you get if everyone around you puts responsibility and the fate of the future in the hands of a fifteen year old boy whose brain hasn’t even fully developed. It's not even the first time a Black has done that, is it? You fucked off and left Reggie to get the Mark instead, coward.”

Sirius lunges for him. He doesn’t get far before Rabastan yanks on the collar of his shirt. Remus quickly intervenes, backing Sirius away from either former Death Eater.

Evan opens his mouth but “Enough!” Lestrange says breathless from Sirius elbowing him in the chest. “Enough, you stupid fuckers. What the fuck is wrong with you idiots? What sort of example is this for your kids?”

“I’ve seen him on way worse rants than disapproval of child soldiers,” Hermione offers timidly. “Er, I’m Hermione, by the way. His neighbor.”

“Rabastan Lestrange. Sorry about the leglock jinx,” he answers nodding at her. “Yaxley was going to hit you from the left with a reducto.”

She blinks. “Oh, uh, sorry for outing your affair with Mrs. Malfoy to her husband and your sister-in-law?” She pauses and adds, “Oh, and I made up that stuff about Draco not being his son. I don’t know if that’s true but I figured his name is Draco, your name is a bastardization of a star in the constellation.”

“Oh, he’s not,” Rabastan confirms. “They conceived him sometime during their second anniversary in Cypress.”

Evan looks between the two of them and then points at Hermione. “Do not become friendly with the escaped prisoner, Hermione Jane.”

“I’m being polite!”

“You were in a fight with him less than a half-hour ago.”

“Well, if we show him some _kindness_ maybe he would be willing to provide information on You-Know-Who’s plans,” she insists.

Evan makes tsking noise at her. “Don’t you go around trying to manipulate my school mate for information through _kindness_. We blackmail and threaten him with dementors like proper descendants of Resistance fighters. Clea would be horrified-”

“I bet Meme would make him chocolate crepes and ask him what his favorite way to garrotte a man is,” she shoots back. “Or did Mor not tell you about when your dad and meme met for the first time and she asked him what he’d done working for Gindalwald?”

“Nope, I did not get that story,” he says. “Did he answer?”

“He said he didn’t and it was his great-aunt she was thinking of then asked her which Malfoy she committed war crimes with. She said Brax and Arete and that Lucius sounds like a cunt.” 

“Mione, language!” Harry says choking on a laugh. “Is this where you got in the habit of mouthing off to Death Eaters?”

“Did you mouth off to _more_ of them?” Evan asks warningly. 

“I didn’t have time,” she sniffs crossing her arms. “I was being _tortured_ by your cousin, wasn’t I?” She watches something angry pass over his face, followed by grief and then he's hugging her again.

"I'm sorry," he says into her hair. She pats his back.

"Evan, you're being weird. You don't usually touch people this much."

"You tell Matt I'm being physically affectionate and all bets are off," he declares, pulling back again. "I'll bury you in the garden."

"You bury me in Mrs. Willis' garden like a proper neighbourhood killer, Evan Barnes, or I'm haunting you."

"This is all very cute but probably not the time," Bill points out. “The aurors will be here soon. Are we getting the kids out of here or sticking around?”

“I believe it best that the children return to Hogwarts.” Dumbledore is descending the stairs. “The Minister has been forced to admit that-”

“By the way, what are you kids doing here?” Evan says. Hermione sees the surprise flash over the Headmaster’s face.

“Er, Mr. Barnes?” Harry asks a little nervously. “Professor Dumbledore-”

“Harry, its very nice to meet you in person, not under glamour,” Evan says to him. “Hermione wrote all about you and Ron over the years. You can call me Evan or Rigil." 

"Evan," Hermione hisses. "Don't talk over my friend like that." Harry goes pink but Sirius takes a sharp breath. Like lecturing an ex-Death Eater is going to get her hexed again. In front of all these people. It won't, even in private but he might put her to extra work ripping up the garden beds and rotating the vegetables in a few weeks. And then because she's very serious, in French, she adds, " _Remember what I said about his relatives?"_

"Oh of course, I should show the great Harry Potter respect," Evan says very very gravely. On the other hand, Hermione might hex _him_ because Harry is shying away now. Looking resigned to either mocking or flattering about his parents dying for him. "A corporeal Patronus at 13?" Harry's eyes snap up from the floor. "That's so fucking impressive, kid."

"Oh, um thank you?" Harry says unsure. "Its- its not that big of a deal. I'm sure people could do it if they were taught and…" He trails off embarrassed.

"Kiddo, I work with a lot of people of all sorts of ages and backgrounds. Not a one of them have come into MAS training being able to form more than a wisp of silver, if that," Evan assures him. "Personally, it took three therapists, a withdrawal and until I was 26 to achieve corporal status."

"Oh, well um, Remus taught me so, I just had a good teacher."

"Harry taught the DA in December," Luna says airily. She drifts over with Neville, small smile on her lips. "Mine is a hare."

"What's your's?" Evan asks Hermione pointedly. 

"An otter," she answers clipped. "And you?"

He clicks his tongue, setting his jaw. "Snake. Cobra, meter long."

She narrows her eyes right back. "Bullshit. You bribed me to water your garden summer before last while Mattie called a reptile removal over a itty bitty gardener snake."

"I was a Slytherin. You can't be afraid of snakes as a Slytherin."

"I'm terrified of snakes," Rabastan inputs. "Have you seen Nagini?"

"I watched her eat a person when I was 13." Several people make surprised noises at the flat drawl. "Fine. It's a dog. Kinda of embarrassing but it doesn't look like Sirius' animagi form."

"It's a lion," Bill drawls. "Big one too. Mor, Brax and I always teased him he would've been a Gryffindor but this makes more sense."

"You fucking Gryffindor," Hermione states. 

"Alright Miss 'I was supposed to go to Slytherin but Crabbe and Goyle smelt weird on the train and Parkinson made fun of my trainers.'"

"I wrote you that letter when I was eleven. I didn't even know you knew about magic," she says defensively.

"I know and I'm still confused how you never made the connections. I taught you potions and herbology and magical theory of Intent." He pause, looks at the still burning fire then back at her. "Which all things considered, probably shouldn't have tied that in with the 'fire is the best distraction' mantra that my friends used to say."

"Are you the one who Sia said almost lit Barty on fire?" Rabastan asks.

"Oh uh, yeah," she says. "He was evil villain monologuing at Harry. It was very cliche.'' then because this is his friend. "Er, sorry?"

He shrugs. "I see you worked on your aim. Good job, I hope he's burning wherever his soul may have passed too for what he did to Alice. And Frank I guess."

"You liked Frank. We were at the wedding," Evan reminds.

"Well yeah Evan, I didn't want my sister marrying her first arranged marriage," he answers pointedly. "You know, the one in love with our best friend, Frank's third cousin or whatever."

"Rab, I was never going to marry your sister."

"Oh, I am aware. You were always going to be 'a confirmed bachelor' and Reggie's 'companion'," he says with verbal quotes.

"Just to establish, I did date other people besides Reg," Evan says to Hermione. "We did not just swear ourselves to each other at 12 and never experiment around."

"Right. Who was that pretty redhead girl you dated in 5th year?" Evan's attention snaps back to the probably ex-Death Eater.

"Shut up."

"No, no, really, I can't remember her name. Between the torture and 14 years with dementors, memory, am I right, Black? Red haired, year older than us. Prefect, Gryffindor I think. Very smart, bottle green eyes, cute little freckles." Rabastan looks at Remus. The werewolf has his eyes closed and a fist trapped against his mouth. He's either in pain or trying not to laugh. "Remember Lupin? You were friends with her, the other prefect in your year."

Lupin shakes his head. Next to him, Sirius looks like he's been slapped. "No. No way, Moony." Slowly, Lupin nods slowly. 

"Oh yes," the Death Eater says amused. "I remember now. Barty joked that you could never marry her because her name would be _Lily Rosier_ or you would be Evan Evans."

"You _dated_ Lily Potter?" Bill says. " _You_ Corin Evan Rosier, ex-Death Eater dated muggleborn, Gryffindor Lily Potter."

"Do not full name me, William Arcturus Weasley," Evan warns him. "And we aren't talking about this."

"For seven months, at least," Rabastan answers for him. "Right Lupin?"

"I think we should talk about this," Sirius says rudely. "There is no way Evans would date… you. She had better taste than my brother."

"I wouldn't say that," Remus says behind his fist. Laughter, defiantly. "I'd more say, her and Regulus shared a type."

"Arrogant prats," Lestrange offers. "From neutral families whose fathers dotted upon them too much as children?"

"I was going to say fit Chasers with curly hair and a grudge against Severus but that works too," the werewolf says.

"Wait, wait," Hermione says holding up her hand. " _Wait_. Did Sirius' brother… Harry's dad?"

"James would never- Regulus hated-"

"Oh yeah, they started hate fucking in like November of our fifth year," Rabastan says over Sirius' sputtering. "And Reggie caught feelings by February. Definitely went into sixth year. Can't remember why they broke up. Why did you break up with Evans, Evan?"

Hermione can see the slow thinking Evan has in his mind right now. He’s got the same look as when Matt would let her into their house on his way off to Oxford and Evan would be sitting on their couch nursing a coffee watching the international news. He’d send her for a refill after finishing one or two more before acknowledging her presence. During the summers between first year and fourth year, he’d be sitting on the bench in the backyard instead, glaring at the garden beds. Last summer, she’d let herself into the house, start the coffee machine and drink tea until he dragged himself downstairs, still looking like a mess but willing to cook them both breakfast. She wondered how many of those mornings over the years were hangovers. Without much thought, she reaches into her pocket for the crinkled and smashed up wax paper bag, offering it to him like so many coffees.

“Are those chocolate covered espresso beans from Migone Confetti in Florence?” he asks, accepting the bag. “How did you bribe Blaise?”

“He had Theo Nott quiz us and Malfoy on History for our OWLS yesterday and the winner got to keep the sweets his cousin Ari sent,” she confesses as he pours some into his hand and munches on them. 

“I’m not even mad,” Evan says around the beans. “Unfortunately, you’re really just proving Rabastan’s point about me having a kid here though.” He crunches for a few seconds before sighing. “Fine. Yes, I dated Lily between March through the summer into my sixth, her seventh year. We broke up early November because some time in, oh July, my maniac brothers made me swear loyalty to a megalomaniac along with two of my best friends.” He crunches on some more beans, studying Harry. “It was actually quite fun dating her. She actually listened to what I was saying about government and education reform instead of blowing me off like everyone else did.”

“Did… did she know you were a Death Eater for that long?” Harry asks frowning.

Evan shrugs. “Hope so. As soon as I could get away from my house, I floo’d to her’s and got sick in your grandparents’ toilet. There was much crying but she already knew how psychopathic my brothers were and that I was sixteen so I didn’t have much choice either way.” He pauses, shooting a look at Dumbledore than back. “Anyways, that’s when I continued the war against Snape.”

“What did you have against Professor Snape?” Neville asks, almost holding back a stammer.

“You mean besides him being an obnoxious ladder climber who hung around and mimic’d gits like Avery and Yaxley and acted like because he was brilliant in academics means that we younger students should show him respect and loyalty that he’d never earned and would never while continuing his crusade against a Black and a Potter, blood traitors may they be?” Evan asks. Neville nods hesitantly and gets another shrug. “He claimed to be in love with Lily Evans but turned around and made friends with people that hated everything about her and himself.” Evan munches on another bean thinking. “You gotta understand, I don’t know how in depth the three of you have on wizarding families outside the 28 but Snape isn’t one. His mum was a pureblood witch but his father is a muggle. He’s a half-blood, the very definition, and was raised in a muggle household, a few roads down from the Evans’. That was _very_ apparent to purebloods so when he wormed his way in, he had to leave his own childhood friend behind but still expected her to be his friend and she was, for a while. Right up until their OWLS, when Potter humiliated him in front of the entire school and Lily told James off but Snape turned around and called her a mudblood. It earned him respect in certain circles but it rather put me off him more since I helped her study history and she helped me with muggle studies.

“So then that summer, Sirius ran away from the Black Family and all the Heirship was dumped on Reggie. Reggie already blamed James for driving a wedge between them since first year - he was a possessive prat, we’re not going to get into the mental maze of Regulus Black - and I guess somehow they started fucking. No idea how, I never asked questions, because I was jealous but supportive.” Rabastan snorts. “Of his self-destructive habit. I suppose. Orion announced Reggie’s arranged marriage to Pandora Malfoy that Yule.”

“My mother,” Luna clarifies. “She foresaw your happy union.”

“And that’s why Seers are only useful sometimes,” he says rolling his eyes. “Anyways, Reg went and had his big revelation that he, you know, _liked_ James Potter, at the end of January, when Pandora mentioned Valentine’s Day and how handsome he was going to look on his date. That was a week of uselessness and I had to go hex your father into asking him on a date. Which I then bullied Lily into a date with me to spy on them and play keep away with Potter’s three friends who didn’t know.”

“Oh, I knew,” Remus says amused. “Regulus and Sirius used the same cologne and no one else did so either James was using Sirius’ or he was meeting up with the other brother.”

“Well, some time after that, Lily and I went official because we had fun on our fake date. Snape hated that, especially since my friends absorbed her and her friends into the study groups which he never managed. So then that summer is when we received the Dark Marks-” He points at Rabastan and himself. “And so did Snape, he went by choice. Who knows what set him off, but he went and snitched to my brothers that I was dating a muggleborn and that he would bring it to the Dark Lord. They threatened her family if I didn’t break it off so I did and was a miserable sod all October until Samhain when Reg and I were expected back to the Black/Rosier celebration. We were only off school for a four day weekend and there was a lot of handshaking, showing off the bright young heirs so no one could exactly punish me for dating below my status.

“But second night in was Samhain night itself, which was family only dinner. My aunt, Reggie’s uncle’s wife, Druella, supported Grindalwald and somehow translated that into supporting Voldemort.” Hermione is surprised he doesn’t even hesitate on the name. And then she realizes, he knew Voldemort’s _real_ name, didn’t he? He worked for Tom Riddle’s ex-boyfriend to bring about his downfall. “And while my father probably was a Grindelwald supporter, he was in no way impressed by Voldemort. So she went on and on about how my brothers were doing the family name proud and I should emulate their behavior. Only, Snape had _also_ told Cissa’s husband, Lucius, who decided to spill my dating history to everyone. My brothers were mortified, my aunt went ballistic, Walburga was _delighted_ and then Reg said something. I can’t even remember what but I was mostly drunk by then and it pissed me off so I went and said something like ‘well at least I’m not fucking my brother’s sloppy seconds. How’s James hanging these days?’” Evan looks amused at this point and rubs at the small nicked scar on his right temple. “He threw the gravy boat at me and Orion brought us to the Malfoy townhouse in Paris where Abraxas, his sister and Henry Potter were having a private celebration over Brax’s brother. Henry took Reg off for a talk, who knows about what and that’s when Orion and Brax recruited me into being a spy. Reg broke up with James the next week and we were miserable sods together until Yule where we had to pull ourselves together for the positive shit show family dinners, Balls and Death Eater meetings were going to be crammed in. And that’s the story.”

“Besides the time you slept with Potter in December of that first year, before him and Reg got serious,” Rabastan adds. Evan finishes the espresso beans glaring at him.

“Weasley, get him out of my sight,” he says pocketing the trash and palming Hermione’s wand. Her own hand tightens around his wand at the sight of the dragonheart-and-vinewood.

Bill steps over and takes the Death Eater’s arm. “Azkaban or Azzano?” Rabastan flinches. 

Evan swishes her wand, tapping one of his shoulders, sweeping it around. Shadows follow the tip of the wand, like he’s pulling a cloak of darkness up and over his shoulders. The shadows settle there, bleed down his arms and solidify into dark cloth, a dark outer robe forms, falling to his knees. 

“Mione’s right, he’s useful for information,” he answers, adjusting the newly formed sleeves. “And I personally don’t want Augusta Longbottom descending upon me because we let Fudge suck out his soul when there’s fairly reasonable doubt.”

“Oh, yes,” Hermione agrees gravely. “We have a lot to talk about when I get out of school again and you were useless that first week last year.”

“I’m going to make you dig up my entire garden, Miss Mione,” he says offhandedly. “And I didn’t get stabbed or break a bone so no medical leave for me this year." Then he addresses Bill again, "take him to Silvretta."

"You want me to wake up Lord Black, at this hour?" Bill asks grimencing. Evan flings Hermione's wand at his face and Bill almost doesn't catch it. He grumbles and tucks it away before tossing his wand back to Evan. 

"You're his favorite great-grandson, he likes you," Evan assures him. Then he gives Rabastan a hard look. "You're going to beg and scrape and demean yourself in anyways he may see fit, Rabastan Lestrange. You will tell him every bit of information he asks, no matter what. This is far too late in the game to be protecting Narcissa's supposed reputation; Draco's safety is more important than if she's branded an adultress."

Rabastan seems to swallow his disagreement. In the end, he gives a sharp nod. "Off to Silvretta to throw myself on the mercy of Arcturus Black."

"Oh, he's quite merciful these days," Evan assures him. Bill leans back and makes an incredulous face. "Weasley, call in Diaz and Al-Fahd to back up the defenses there. Brief them then bring Granger's wand to be cleaned."

"I'll make an appointment with Ollivander," Bill says inspecting her wand.

"No, a real cleaning. Bring it to Gregovitch. You'll be in the area."

"That’s a four day wait," he says.

"So go through his apprentice. Name drop Krum or Zagof. I don't care, I'm picking the wand up in two days and it better be cleaned: spells, Trace and Blocks. We'll argue price upon pick up." Bill concedes easily. "Oh, and on your way between Silvretta, Gregovitch's and HQ, stop by the Fortress and let them know I'll be visiting…" He glances at his watch. "Let's go with seven tonight. Maybe he'll have eaten by then and won't be in a snit."

"Please say he isn't talking about Nurmengard," Rabastan says.

"I can't confirm that," Bill says then they're gone.

"What's Nurmengard?" Harry asks.

Evan looks back at Hermione. "What exactly do you learn at school?"

"Mostly how to steal potions ingredients from Snape and sneak around because we've learned over the past five years that adults are virtually useless," she admits. "What did you learn in fifth year?"

"Mostly how to start a cold war in the Common Room dating a girl an upper year was obsessed with while also hexing Potter in the corridors out of misplaced jealousy and abandonment issues stemming from my best friend who I was in love with dating him to get over his own jealousy and abandonment issues from his brother running away to live with Potter." She smiles at him. "What's your plans this summer?"

"Probably not hangout at the house for three weeks, redoing your garden beds and then run off to London to sneak into Number 12 and read the library," she admits. Because it had been her plan. Her parents would forget about her by mid-week two and Evan would be called off to work and Matt always ran summer courses. So going to Number 12 earlier than probably even the Weasleys, nevermind Harry, would give her plenty of time to study with only Sirius and Remus to probably distract her. "What are you going to offer?" These questions, when she was younger, usually preceded trips to the cinema or museums or library.

He looks at his watch. "In about ten minutes, Archie will be sending a note off to my father that Rabastan is on Black Property and that I have been alive this entire time, working for Adam and Brax. He'll know this because Rabastan won't keep his damn mouth shut. From the moment Corin Rosier reads that note, I will have exactly 7 days to present myself before he starts yanking funding to the MAS and shutting off alliances with associated families and entities. He'll probably make Fiona quit the MAS and stop communication between her, Elain and the Delacours."

"So," Hermione says, dragging the word out. "You want me to take care of the gardens while you're off to see your dad?"

"No," he says, doing the same thing. "The library in Dijon is extensive."

"Evan, are you asking me to take off to France to distract your dad instead of spending time with my parents?"

"I one hundred percent am asking you to come along while I see my father as morale support and to be present to ensure both of us are on our best behaviour, I.e. he _probably_ won't kill me if you're there and I likely won't lose my shit at him for abandoning me to Ellis and Eifion. Also Mor said Etta and Cal moved into the Chateau plus Elain and Gabby will most likely be there as everyone else works for the IWC or MAS."

"Fine but you have to convince my parents."

"Good thing I'm trying to reconnect with my family before my nephew's wedding who is apparently engaged to Jane's niece, which I just found out."

She mock gasps. "Don't lie to my parents."

"Oh, so I should tell them about going after Quirrell in First year or your coma in Second Year or when you threw yourself between an accused murderer, soulsucking monster and a dementor in Third year or when you ran after a Death Eater last year or the fact that we are currently standing in the top secret research department in the Ministry of Magic at 2am because you and your friends ditched school to fight more Death Eaters?"

"Evan," she says crossing her arms. "Fudge is far to incompetent to be a dementor." 

He snorts. "I'll deal with your parents and travel and self-defense. You go back to school, get your ankle checked out, eat something, go to bed. Do not-" He waggles a finger in her face. "-do not tell baby Malfoy you almost got his mother killed. Do not say a goddamn word to baby Nott. Do not, and this is very important, out me to Blaise fucking Zabini. His mother will, somehow, murder his newest step-father and try to marry me. And Adam will just laugh at my misery. This next week is going to be very difficult dealing with the fallout, Lestrange and Dolohov; we don't need to deal with more." He presses two fingers to his forehead. "Mostly, I don't need you to come home and tell me you got into a punch up after baby Malfoy or Nott got upset and called you something derogatory."

"I broke one person's nose. And quite honestly, mudblood doesn't even bother me. Anyone that uses it is just saying 'my mum and dad are related'. No offense, Sirius."

Evan snorts. "You realize, everyone here is a pureblood, right? Besides you and Harry and Dora, everyone comes from old families and both of them are only a generation away from very, very Ancient lineages."

Hermione looks him in the eye. "It's not my fault you all marry your cousins."

"Go back to school. I hope you fail all your OWLS and are expelled from Hogwarts."

"Cal will just get me into Beauxbaton or Durmstrang if that ever happened."

"That's because Cal is a class traitor."

"Evan, I have only ever seen you in sweatpants or mostly ripped jeans. The only time I ever see you in a suit is when Mattie makes you go to alumni events with him as the homosexual couple."

"Yes, and I scam all those over inflated egoists out of their money for his department. He'll be Head of that department in two years and we are not letting Antonin fuck that up. I spent three years annoying Gellert to speak with him for the doctoral thesis that got him the job."

"Gellert?" Dumbledore says quite seriously. 

"Now, I have to go pick up some murder mystery books for the smarter Dark Lord," Evan says and presses a kiss to Hermione's forehead. "Don't make bets with a Seer."

Hermione sputters as he disappears from in front of her. "What? What does that mean?!"

Tonks gives a small laugh. "The ICW contracts the MAS to retrieve dangerous objects and track down dangerous people. Lord Malfoy and Lord Zabini spent years trying to get Grindalwald to give them information on his boltholes and caches around the world. Mum once told me he'd only ever talk to Orion Black or Corin Rosier himself until some brilliant MAS Agent like thirteen years ago managed to make some headway. Everyone assumes it's because he's old and lonely and regrets everything because he talks to a therapist once a month. Leonzio is a permanent escort but Bill and Mor have gone along. Said that Dr. Hullum and he barely even talk but he usually ends up answering case questions for Leonzio at the end."

"Hullum is Matt's last name," Hermione says blinking. "Are you saying my neighbors have been having monthly therapy sessions with a Dark Lord?"

"Makes sense if this Matt is Antonin Dolohov's brother," Tonks says, shrugging. "That family only came to England in their father's generation so Antonin could marry my mum. They were Grindelwald supporters; huge ones at that. If he knew Leonzio was a Rosier and Hullum is a Dolohov, he'd probably be more open to chatting with them. Probably why Corin could talk to him but can't see why Orion would be."

Hermione stares off into the flames before saying, "Maybe it's not about family names. Maybe it was about ego." She meets Harry's green eyes. "I mean, it'd've only been a few decades after his defeat that Voldemort started his campaign. Bit insulting to have someone trying to take the title and Mr. Black…" _was the upspurer's ex-boyfriend._ "Was in charge of Intelligence."

"Very insightful, Miss Granger," Dumbledore says as Ginny is shuffled into their group. "Now, let us get you back to Hogwarts."

They go back to Hogwarts. Hermione’s ankle is healed, Dobby brings them sandwiches to snack on and they all fall asleep under Madam Pomfrey’s watchful eyes.

===

And the next morning, Harry is summoned to Dumbledore's office. He's told all about a prophecy. He, apparently, is destined to defeat the Dark Lord. Prophesied to do so. It's why his parents were killed.

It makes Hermione _angry_. She could understand violence for violence. Her grandmother told her of violence; of death and evil men. But to let a prophet dictate your own actions? She would think someone as smart as Tom Riddle had been would be _better_ , smarter. Maybe that's why Evan called the other one the smart Dark Lord.

But more, she's angry at Dumbledore. He kept this information from Harry for five years. Okay, she could see not telling them in First year when they went after the Philosopher's Stone but after the shit show of last year? Harry admits, once Neville and Luna have gone on their own, that he was angry too. He'd thrown the Headmaster's little doodads about his office, he'd been so angry. 

So when Hermione is summoned to the Headmaster's office by a note through the Headboy, she doesn't attend the time. She knows what he's going to say, ask about. It'll be invasive questions about her childhood, about Evan and Matt, and warnings about trusting a Death Eater. Not to get close to dark families, not to go to the Rosiers' Chateau this summer. But she's already gotten a letter from Etta, right at breakfast, saying Corin Rosier had given his permission for her to be there. And Etta thought it would be good for Evan to have someone there for him that wasn't directly involved with his dad. Hermione herself can only remember Arcturus’ words over the summer, that the Order had little alliances and little trust from the rest of the world.

So Hermione refused to go to the Headmaster's office. Even when Professor McGonagall passed along the message the day before term ended.

"Am I in trouble, Professor?" she asks.

McGonagall looks very serious as she studies her. And tired. Washed out and grey. The seven stingers to the chest doing long term damage. But she says, not unkindly, "No, Miss Granger. The Headmaster wishes to speak to you about the events at the Ministry."

"I would like to not speak of that," Hermione says as blue flames and a still body plays against the back of her skull. “I’ll be speaking with a mental health professional this summer and Madame Pomfrey cleared me two days ago.”

She’s surprised to see her (second after Lupin) favorite teacher hesitate before saying, “Hermione, I have lost many wonderful students to this war. Mr. Rosier and his friends…” She hesitates again but Hermione doesn’t use the time to jump to his defense. She knew damn well what Evan had done. The first two people, muggles at his initiation, he didn’t know their names. But the three magic-users and one muggle after that, he knew their names. He’d admitted to torturing at least a dozen people as a Death Eater. She knew that since then, he’d killed people, fleeing criminals or ones who didn’t like agents poking their noses into certain businesses. She doesn’t need to justify that though. She would bet there’s blood on half the teachers’ hands here; knows there’s a fair bit on Dumbledore’s. “They were brilliant young men. Not as loud as Black and Lupin and their friends but… but very smart. It hurt very much to see their fates as well.” Hermione nods. Two dead, two to Azkaban and one dead soon after on that. She wondered if it was better for Rabastan to have thought himself the Last One locked away, hidden in Azkaban or Remus, forced to live out his loneliness. “I don’t wish to see similar happen to yourself and your friends.”

Hermione thinks. “Professor… Harry and I… we have as much choice in being involved as Evan and his friends did. Our families might not be pressuring us but we’re targets. Unbelievably, Ron is the most conservative of the three of us. We’ve really gotten into some bad habits of standing up against people trying to kill us.”

“I understand,” McGongall says, sounding very old and tired. “Do be careful this summer. I was in school with Corin Rosier and I taught his sons, never mind his nieces. Evan was the most polite and I pulled him off Sirius or James more than a few times.”

Hermione lets a smile flicker over her mouth. “I can imagine. He’s been in a fourteen year war with our neighbor across the street. Mrs. Willis says rather rude things about my family and his fake relationship. He’s also the one who taught me to read and encouraged my curiosity when I was a bit… annoying to my parents with all my questions.” She catches sight of Blaise. He’s leaning against a wall, watching the two of them. “Excuse me, professor. I think Zabini and I have an undiscussed appointment.”

McGonagall looks at the Slytherin with a frown. He gives her a charming smile and gives her a finger-y wave. “Have a good summer, if we don’t speak before you leave, Miss Granger. Stay safe.”

“You too, Professor,” she says and heads off to talk to Blaise. “Hey?”

“This way,” he says, guiding her away. Up some stairs, down some more and then they’re stepping into a disused dueling practice room. Malfoy is there, looking himself over in one of the dusty warped mirrors. And Theo is laid out on the cushioned dueling platform in the center of the room. She feels sick seeing him there. She’d successfully avoided the three of them (and the other Slytherins gave her and her friends a wide gap too) since the Ministry. Those two had disappeared for the full day after the break in (according to Lavender) and then Malfoy had been back with Zabini the next breakfast. Theo had been at the second day’s dinner. He looked… bad. Tired and red eyed and wretched.

Malfoy catches sight of them in the mirror and turns. He had dark bruises under his eyes too but not as rough as the other Slytherin.

“They were trying to kill us,” Hermione states even as he opens his mouth. He closes it, deflating. 

“We know,” Draco says looking her over. “I- you told my father about mother’s affair.”

Oh, right, that. She’d put Mrs. Malfoy in terrible danger and murdered Mr. Nott. “You don’t seem surprised.”

Draco lets his eyes skirt away. “I saw… they don’t look at each other the way she looks at… I knew it wasn’t a love match.”

“I’m sorry I outed her,” she says awkwardly.

He clears his throat. “Yes, well. She’s with Zabini’s grandfather and I shall be joining her in Italy. Theo’s…” He glances at the other boy. He’s staring up at the ceiling. “Theo is going to France, with his sister.”

“I-” She swallows. “I’m going to France with my neighbor to meet his father.” She bites her lip. “His name is Evan… he used to be a Rosier.” She watches Malfoy’s grey eyes go wide in shock. Theo makes a noise at the back of his throat. Blaise nods, like it's not entirely unexpected. “He… he works with Bill and Mor for your grandfathers. So don’t be terribly surprised if we see each other over the summer.”

"Well, that is… interesting," Draco says. All four fall silent for a good minute.

"Did he suffer?" Theo asks. His voice sounds as rough as Evan's last summer. 

"I-I don't know," she says stomach rolling. She did this. She- "I'm so sorry."

She watches Theo's soft face twist at her words. He looks confused then he rolls his head to look at her. "It was you." He says it with such surety, Hermione is already nodding before she remembers Evan's words. She activates the spring loaded wand holster and drops the borrowed wand's tip into her palm. She's practiced enough since Christmas to be able to drop her wand fully into her hand since Matt had sent the practical gift. As usual, when the rosewood touches her skin, she smells the flowers. She wonders what the core is, that allows her to use it so easily when it's loyalty is to Evan.

"He was going to kill Harry," she says, voice cracking a little. "I'm sorry." 

"He was a criminal bastard," Theo says a little wobbly. "He- it's not your fault. Thanks for telling me." It's a dismissal so she backs out of the room. Blaise gives her a nod before shutting the door in her face. 

Shattering glass dogs her steps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck no is Sirius Black going to die on my watch. Poor Luke, Mai and Cal have been working his legal shit for two years. Book vs. movie: in the movie Bellatrix hits him with the Killing Curse but in the books, he's hit with a red spell (likely a stunner). I went with the book version since i'm most familiar with that. (unfun fact: Evan and Rabastan both hear Barty's voice beyond the Veil. Sirius hears James'. Both Evan and Sirius also hear Orion but lets not get into _daddy issues_ this chapter.) Augustus Rookwood, former Unspeakable, gave a rundown to the Death Eaters before the mission aka told them to stay the fuck away from the Veil no matter what.
> 
> Evan being reveled was a huge debate to me tbh. I ~technically~ wanted to reveal him to the world as a whole during the final assault on Hogwarts but this fit better. I wanted someone there to catch Hermione immediately between the torturing and the murder. The Order suuuuucks at taking care of Harry's psyche but Evan proves himself a decent (semi-)well adjusted adult by putting his mentee before his own safety. 
> 
> The Dating Games: As previously stated, Evan Rosier was in love with Regulus since they were kids. Does that mean he understood it was romantic? Not until Regulus was dating other people i.e James. Like Rabastan said, Reggie was engaged to Pandora Malfoy (Lucius' sister/Luna's mum) and Cal said, Corin never expected Evan to marry at all. If it ever came down to it, Lily Evans probably would have been at the top of Evan's list of woman to marry despite her family. His type is smart, no one in their generation is described more so than Lily Evans.  
> Draco is a Malfoy. Just to confirm that. Narcissa's and Rabastan's affair was mostly emotional/romantic. They did have sex but after Draco was born. And yes, they took up the affair when he escaped Azkaban. 
> 
> Hope you guys are still liking this! This is the last chapter I have fully written so updates might come a little slower from now on. But we go back to France next chapter and finally meet Grandpapi Rosier.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you all think! I have the next chapter or two written already.


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